


The Piper's Song

by sporklift



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Birds, Birds are a symbol if that wasn't obvious, Dark Neverland, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporklift/pseuds/sporklift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Felix first comes to Neverland and slowly becomes Peter's most beloved Lost One.  Backstory. Pre-Panlix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to z0mbieshake and pandasushiroll for all your help, workshopping, discussion for this story! It means the world to me. 
> 
> I wrote this and did my drafting somewhat quickish, but I knew if I didn't bite the bullet this story wouldn't've seen the light of day. This story is part 1 of a series outlining all my headcanons I've developed for Neverland over the time since 3a. If you're interested in deleted scenes, extras, storyboarding, etc, check out all-lost-here-fic.tumblr.com. :) 
> 
> And now, without further ado, please enjoy the fic!

Felix has been walking for an hour at least. The iron tang from his bleeding nose has filled his mouth more than once but to wipe the blood on his sleeve would warrant a worse punishment yet.

He doesn't even know what he  _did_ to offend his family; perhaps they found out he'd cut the strings on the harp in the hall to make his own arrow. Or maybe they just got bored. Or felt the need to punish him for being subpar, for all his old crimes, for not being intelligent enough in his lessons.

It could be any number of things, but perhaps the punishment was ineffectual. Whatever he'd done, he isn't sorry.

There's no point to being sorry. He doesn't want their approval - he wouldn't even if it were possible to get it.

He stoops beside a pond to wipe the blood from his face, and he can tell the sky has twisted into a dark bloody red, melting into violets and dark blues. If he delays any longer, he'll be stuck all night for sure; he needs to find the path before night falls.

He takes only a brief moment to find his bearings before he steps away from the thicket, and back towards the clearing,

The path is all but lit, at least from this position in the sky, a golden haze over the over-trampled dirt underneath him, roots disrupting the glow from perfection, but only for one brief, dark instant, and then it went right back to shimmering in the dying light.

It'd all be black soon enough.

And the path winds on, Felix steps on, and he knows it will go on and on till it reaches the village. Once he gets there he'll decide whether or not it will be worth it to continue to stalk to the manor or if a room in an inn is out of the question. He has no money so it is. Perhaps, then, the falconer's apprentice would be willing to console Felix for the night. But it would be after dark; the mews would be closed and he'd have no way in.

Back to the manor then.

The sun is setting quickly now. Felix can watch the path deluminate. First very slowly, and then the diffusion is quick, from deep orange to a lilac to violet to indigo to black. Every step he takes makes things darker as he heads out of the wood.

Perhaps he shouldn't be so rash. After all, what would have have waiting for him in the manor? A father who ignores him? A mother who abhors him? A brother to throw him about like a rag doll?

If he went home, the battery was certain. remaining out in the forest, his slaughter was only a possibility. The forest will be a much nicer cradle; he might actually get some sleep, enjoy the fire, eat something other than the tasteless slop the family would dine on. They always ate the worst things whenever they didn't have company. " _We've got to save face, of course. Save the good food for when company goes. We don't want them to think we can't afford it."_

" _But we can't."_

" _Of course we can. We just have to be minimalistic whenever we aren't entertaining."_

To Felix, it would make much more sense to serve and live middling rather than scrape at the bottom like serfs till someone comes calling, but in the matter of courtly affairs, Felix has never been knowledgeable.

Nobody trusts him enough; he's sidelined, useless to everyone.

But, nevertheless, the forest is a dangerous place. Everyone knows that, from one corner of Camelot to the other. Bandits and criminals scarcely even remained in the wood after dusk. Tall, blackened trees hid glowing will-o-the-wisps to enchant weary travelers, to leave the world behind and lead the path to certain death. Everyone knows the fair folk wait in the shadows, and their mischief can spell misery. There's been rumors of a Palug cat stalking through, its back arcing up just short enough to remain hidden under the highest boughs of the tree, ready to make a meal of any man foolish enough to wander around after dark.

But Felix isn't quite gullible enough to believe that. There might be fair folk, monstrous beasts, or enchanting pathways, or a púca enticing him away. But the thing is that doesn't matter to him. None of it. Even if a creature did find its way to him and found him worth ruining, it isn't as though they'd get the glory of destroying him completely. That honor was already taken.

Either way, he's better off to stay the night in the forest, among the fae and dracae and all the other horrific creatures they say tumble in the bushes and trees late at night.

He sighs as he ducks behind a tree, looking for a hollow there, or a filmsy trunk he could possibly tilt over to make a lean-to. It's getting late. He doesn't want to be caught in the dark, at least without a plan.

He doesn't have any shale or iron to start a fire. He doesn't have a knife to skin an animal for supper, much less a way to kill it. In the stories, when heroes would camp out in the forest, they usually had a way to make a tent. A hollow log or tarp to shield him from the elements, from the creatures of whom he might stand in the way. Whether wild animal or intelligent monster, his chances of living through the night wane with the sunlight.

It's odd what the night can do, he thinks. Nighttime and the woods and an emotionally delicate state. For a moment there, he thought he heard the faeries singing. He shakes his head, expels the memory from his mind.

But the melody continues, a low haunting sound.

He shakes his head again, and again, waiting for the noise to go away. It doesn't and so he tries the opposite approach. With a bit of focus, it will diffuse and be the chirping of crickets, the bray of bats, creatures and crows and the natural sound of the forest.

It's the strangest song he's ever heard. A pure sound, long wafting melody, enticing. And it goes on. Felix can feel his heart tremor out of his chest in time, incidentally becoming the bassline of the song. And the notes sing to him.  _Come here, come close, come away with me._

When did he stop walking?

It isn't a harp, Felix can tell for certain. How he ever thought it was one is anyone's guess. It's a flute. A pair of pipes.

By the time Felix sticks an instrument to the music he's hearing - panpipes - he's already turned around, headed into the heart of the forest.

Surely this is a spell, an enchantment. He'll be walking into a ring of fair folk. He'll die here listening to that haunting melody.

The thought's more comforting than Felix cares to admit.

He isn't sure how long it's been since he heard the sound, how long he's been walking, but he scarcely recognizes his surroundings by the time he can view the firelight on the other end of a swath of trees, in a lonely clearing. There's a thick line of percussion, vying to outshine the sound of those pipes. Vying and failing.

The clearing is, at first, little more than bright light to Felix. A circle of boys spin round and round by the fire. There's nothing enchanting about  _them_. Surely they aren't the fair folk - there's nothing that seems magical in their clumsy movements. They're covered in furs and trussed up as though it's a masquerade. Spinning and clanking sticks, bleating out the percussion. Some jump in the air and flip over themselves, acrobatics that try to lick over the flames around them but never seem to quite reach the summit.

There's laughing. Howling. It seems almost animalistic, and yet there's never been anything more fundamentally human than this.

At the head of this company stands a patchwork cloak. It's made of dark browns and deep reds and silks and twill and cottons. A pair of long elegant hands come out from the cloak, holding a small set of panpipes up to a mouth that disappears under the shadow of a hood. Hidden under all these materials, all these shadows, must be the most magical being Felix has ever encountered.

The music thrums inside him, elates, excites, pulses electric flame through every nerve Felix has. Overwhelmed, his legs can't hold him up. He's little more than skin and bones, but even that weight is too much. He collapses on the nearest log, legs splaying under him. Too entranced to do anything but  _watch._

The company of boys twist and turn and knack their sticks together. Felix can't see their faces, but somehow he knows that every last one of them is grinning like a fool.

It's a moment before Felix realizes he is, too.

The moonlight seems to shine down, just for this circle in the center of the forest. White light covers the trees, pale and milky and enchanting. The fire below is lively and more yellow than red or orange, reaching out from the sky, spit firing all the energy that the moon tries to calm.

That moon is high behind the clouds, but it feels like Felix has only just sat down. But, all the dangers before seem benign in the presence of this roaring fire and this excitable company playing before him.

Even though he merely sat down without notice, Felix senses all of the boys. All of their energy. And he's, somehow,  _part_ of it.

Without warning, the pipes stop. Felix looks up towards the cloaked figure standing before them, hands at his sides. The rest of the boys don't seem to notice, still whooping and hollering and spinning and dancing. Felix knows he might miss something important if he takes his eyes away for a moment.

He must have been entranced because the second he breaks his eyes away from the cloak, the fire has died down to embers, the company has stopped dancing, the sky is edging on gray around them.

The cloaked figure steps forward, broad gallant steps, and comes closer to the fire. From his place on the log, Felix can only barely make out his face when he lowers his hood. A pixie-edged face, fiery green eyes, and the most persuasive looking mouth Felix has ever seen drives him to his feet. He's the only boy amongst them who doesn't have a mask.

"Well, my friends, it looks like our party is just about over," The boy says, voice far richer than Felix had anticipated. It's less eerie than the pipes, but all the same, more conductive to the energy he's got broiling inside of him after the sentiments.

"Will you come back again tomorrow, Piper?" A small voice calls in the heart of the crowd.

The boy - the Piper - puts on a face that looks so wistful Felix can't quite believe it's real.

"I'm afraid not," The Piper muses. "This was my last night in Camelot. I'm due back in Neverland."

A different boy - older than the first - answers the question Felix has forming in his skull before it's come into fruition. "What's that?"

"It's my home, a far off place. You can't get there but by a special kind of magic, or else in your dreams." His bright eyes grow excitable and the Piper steps closer, a whole new sort of hush falling over the crowd. "It's a magical land where time won't affect you. Where you can stay young forever, no grown-ups can tell you what to do. You don't have to live in fear of the magical creatures there. No traditions or obligations or caste can weigh you down. And your 'family?' The one you have now? They can't get to you."

A small, mousy voice. "Th-they can't?"

"No," The Piper grins again. "And you'll have a new family. With me. With my Lost Boys. All of us, together, going on countless adventures, one to the next. And there's danger and games and you never have to worry about growing too old for it - because you'll never grow up and your family - your _new_ family with me and the Lost Boys - won't either."

A courageous boy in the back, one standing just off Felix's right, moves to stand on a log, to get the Piper's attention. "Can I come with you?"

Like a thunderstorm rolling in, the company is in an uproar. Constant cries and pleas, "Take me with you!" and "I don't want to go back!" Along with sob stories that can be heard fringing the more desperate wails. "Nobody understands!" and "I'll be alone again if you leave!" and "They'll beat me again!"

The Piper's hands fly up, pacifying the company. He chuckles. It's congenial and smooth and just a little  _too_ perfect. Felix sucks in a breath but silences himself when the Piper moves to speak again. "I'll tell you what, if you'd like, you can come back with me. Leave this place and follow me to Neverland. You can never come back but-"

The crowd raises their voices once more. Felix growls at the interruption. What could they possibly have to say that's more important than this speech?

"Oh we don't wanna go back!"

"Yes! Take us with you!"

"Right now! I wanna go  _now!"_

And on and on, all the loudest pleas and appeals were heard and die down as the Piper lifts his hands once more.

"All right. But we have to do it before sunrise and you can  _never_ return to Camelot. So make your choice and make it quick."

Felix can't even imagine that there's a choice to make. Although he isn't technically invited. Although he simply stumbled upon their party and spied all night. The way the Piper talks...he wants to hear more.

Besides it's not like he's leaving very much of anything behind at the manor anyhow. And just like it's fate, he pulls up his hood and falls in behind the Piper in the patchwork cloak.

It's nightmarish, what happens next. The Piper raises his hand and, like a puppeteer moves his marionettes, like a druid conducting matters of the spirit, the clearing grows darker, almost pitch black except for the pinpricks of pure white light staring down at them.

It takes Felix a moment to realize what he's seeing. A host of black smoky creatures -  _human shadows_ \- hover in the air. There's something terrifying and beautiful about them. The boys visibly quiver, a few whimper. Felix stands, rooted to the spot.

"Grab on," The Piper says, "And let's fly."

 

 

 

 

Flying. Felix doesn't know how to describe what it feels like. The shadow's hand wrapped around his arm burnt, a hollow current of air boiling around him. The elation of whipping through the air. High above the rest of the world, he could see the chateaus of the manor he used to call home.

He turns his back, once and for all, and twists his face to the sky, the sun peeks upwards, pinks and hues of bright blue. The wind in his face, the burning in his arm, it all amounted to one thing: hope.

And then, Camelot's gone and they were nowhere at all. But then the colors roll back, rich and deep and it's still nighttime, with the moon a sliver of a crescent dipping under a mountain. The heavy air smells like honeysuckle. The humidity, however, feels like something else - like a promise of adventure.

And then, just like that, it's over. The shadows let go of their company - the boys tumble onto the underbrush of a second forest, more alive than ever.

Felix's head slams on a root and he takes a moment to comprehend what just happened. Starlight dots across his eyes as he blinks himself back into the situation. He turned his back on Camelot, on his family, without a second thought.

He wasn't even invited to come along with the company. Surely they'd notice. Felix thought, worry creeping into every nook and crevice of his being. Perhaps they'd take him prisoner. Or worse. Perhaps they'd send him back to Camelot.

He couldn't figure why it bothered him so much. He'd run away, to another realm, by magic, all for the sound of a pipe and a boy with a persuasive grin. Perhaps, he thought, he'd gone out of his mind. Mad from grief. It'd be the best explanation whether this was a hallucination or truly happening, a lapse of his logical mind. But then, he looked up at the Piper, who stands gallantly on a tall rock. His hood is down, his hair tousled from the air and a light pink flush on his cheeks. His grin is sinister but, for some reason, Felix doesn't mind. And, while he scours the crowd of boys flung on the ground, his eyes meet Felix's.

Even a siren's song wouldn't be so inviting, so promising. So obviously dangerous.

And, for Felix, that's it.

He can't stop thinking about it, even while the Piper leads them through the forest, the bushes, the vines. Everything has a hazy glow around it, perhaps from the sunrise casting its brilliant colors through the canopies and onto the thick underbrush.

The air is warm and wet, but Felix finds he doesn't mind. It's not hot, and as he looks around himself to see all manners of neon birds and the sort of foliage he'd only ever read about - broad, waxy leaves, bright long flowers - he can only stack it up to one thing -  _magic._ But a kind so unlike what he saw back in Camelot. His stomach jitters as he falls in among the crowds contemplating what this means.

From the corner of his eyes, he takes note of a few boys shucking off the furs they'd donned for their dance, pink in the face and panting. As the layers dissipate through the trek through the warm jungle air, he notices a few different things about his company in his periphery.

There appears to be a broad age range among them. At youngest, Felix thinks he sees a boy of eight. Most of them seem to be between fourteen and eighteen, with Felix as, perhaps, the oldest. Although there's another - one with a handsome heat-flushed face - who looks as though he could match his age. It's an eclectic bunch; some commandeer the vines and grass with ease, some stumble, unused to making trails through underbrush. Some are pale and fair-haired just like everyone else Felix grew up seeing everywhere within the kingdom, some are dark and some have features Felix hasn't encountered before but every last one of them has at least something in common: the same sense of utter wonder smacked across their faces. It grows as they react to the monkeys and the bright flowers. And, although not nearly so impressed by the scenery, Felix figures he looks the same when his eyes circle 'round to the back of that pied cloak.

Felix doesn't know why he's surprised when they come into a clearing. It seemed as though the jungle would continue on forever, as though this pied piper was merely leading his parade of children to walk until they fell over dead. It's a silly thought, Felix realizes shaking it from his head in favor of taking in his new surroundings.

Five boys huddle around a dying fire composed primarily of glowing embers, every one of them in dirty cloaks and fraying clothes. Dirt and streaks from coal line their faces, but they grin as they see the company approaching. Three of the dirty cloaks immediately rush towards them. It's a flurry of movement and the Piper leaves the group to step over, entirely guileless of the fact he'd just left the whole of the new boys to flounder in this small wilderness between the thick of the forest and the glowing embers in the middle of the clearing all by themselves.

One of those boys who had rushed them, one with close cropped hair and a bloodied bandage wrapped thick over his hand whoops and hollers. "Pan! You got 'em!"

The Piper -  _Pan_? - leans back and ticks his head to the side. "You thought I wouldn't?"

"'Course I did," The bandaged boy mumbled, "it's just-you got so  _many."_

"I don't think we'll be going down in numbers so much anymore," A second dirty cloak says, the boy behind is grinning madly. He's got white-blond hair and stands on one leg as though it'd hurt to put too much weight on the other.

As though there's nothing odd about that sentiment, nothing  _possibly_ worrisome, the Piper grins right back. And he turns to the crowd. "What do you think, boys? Think you've got what it takes to be a real Lost Boy?"

Around Felix, every last boy raises his hands in the air and cheers, chittering with an enormous plastered grin.

And the Piper quirks a brow. "The day's still young. Go on - go play."

The boys around Felix cheer again, a tidal wave of  _noise_ , and the boys in cloaks all seem to huddle together once more - whether the three that advanced retreated to the other two or the two came up to the three or if they met in the middle Felix is unsure - and the Piper jumps up on a rock again, manic grin on his face. "Well, come on, let's see what Peter Pan's newest Lost Boys are made of."

Felix looks up at the Piper -  _Peter Pan_ , apparently, and hopes for just a moment he'll look at him again, just like he did by the rock. He hopes for it, prays for it, asks Fionnuala, and Aodh and Fiacra, and Conn and feels absolutely ridiculous for the way he cycles through all of the Children of Lir so readily. It's blasphemy, but he just wants to get that jolt from the Piper's - Peter Pan's - eyes.

A sharp cry - almost a crow and Felix's attention is diverted. It's perhaps the least magical thing that's happened all day but it's sufficed to get him to look over. One of the dirty cloaked boys, one with a mop of curls, shinnies his way up a rope, hissing when that blond boy shakes the rope from underneath. Two of the others, a dark boy who'd stayed behind and a boy with a rather unsettling twinkle in his eye circle each other, fists up to initiate a boxing match. The boy with the puppy eyes and bandaged hand sits on a log, shuffling a host of sticks and pointed stones in his arms. It looks like one of them is about to poke his eye out.

"Well?" Peter Pan laughs when the new cluster remains stagnant. "Go play!"

Like little brown rollie pollies under a lifted rock, the boys fly out into the clearing. Felix stands, now alone. Even Peter Pan has turned his back to watch the more interesting show.

And Felix breathes.

Lest he look like an idiot, standing around doing nothing, Felix starts to walk. He hides himself in the shadows of the brush surrounding the clearing, and makes a slow vulturic circle. Protruding roots peek up from the ground, just inviting anyone who isn't paying enough attention to trip and face-plant into the pit with the glowing embers.

Beside that pit, Felix notes, there's the boy with the bandaged hand and a small crew of new recruits. Next to the boy and the other living, breathing, organisms, there's a woodpile.

-or, no, wait. That's a stack of spears and wooden arrows and clubs. It's an armory, right there, disheveled and disorganized, in the middle of the clearing.

Felix considers the oddity no more than thirty seconds before pressing on. He makes a full circle and, with little more to do, slides down the smooth bark of a tree till he's resting on the forest floor.

There's a hollow in the trunk, just off Felix's left. Leaning to the side Felix can see it's filled with pelts and animal skins. Messy ones that look like they were half tanned with tufts of fur sticking out and pelts intended to showcase brilliant pattern and warmth but had empty patches. There's scratchy cotton in the mix too…

Felix blinks. This can't be...this can't be their  _camp._

It's little more than a firepit and a boxing ring. Nobody would ever call this home, lay his head here; that just doesn't add up. Maybe the pelts aren't blankets; maybe they're costumes. Felix sighs, certain he'll find out one way or another.

Rotating his head against the smooth bark of the tree, Felix watches as the boys create a circle, whooping and hollering at whatever's going on inside. Wrestling or boxing perhaps. A handful of them have gotten distracted, racing one another up trees. Felix has never seen a company so carefree.

"Don't you want to join 'em?"

Felix jumps at the surprise interjection. He spins around to find one of the senior boys leaning against the tree, one leg propped up on the root nearest Felix's hip. This boy has deep tan skin and twinkly dark eyes and a twisted smirk that tells Felix to be wary within the two seconds that pass before he responds with a slow "No."

The boy blinks. "No? What are you - some kind of stick in the mud?"

Jerkily, Felix's mouth unhinges. He has a dismissive sentiment ready, a defensive wall ready to deter anyone who might want to unsettle him. But this is one of the five who have been on the island before. A slimy voice in his ear, the one that always came with the pain in his stomach, whispering, " _You can't undo a first impression, Felix."_  And so he allows his glare to melt, and instead of retort, he shrugs. "Why would I want to blend in and just become one of the New Ones?"

Cracking a sharp laugh the boy snickers. "And you'd rather be the Sulky Brooding One?"

"It's worked so far," Felix says. To the boy's perplexed frown, he elaborates. "You came to me."

Another laugh and squint to the eyes and the boy lowers his leg from the roof. To Felix's surprise, he  _plops_ down beside him with an unceremonious, "The name's Rufio."

A small hunting party returned an hour ago with a shaggy equine. A few of the more skilled boys just finish skinning it down when Rufio claspes Felix on the arm and ticks his head. Felix can decipher the invitation as quickly as it comes, although he's surprised with its congeniality. Nevertheless he does his best to leap to his feet, getting caught in his own limbs in the process. Rufio barks out a laugh but waves him over once more.

_You look like a draft horse when you walk like that, Felix._

He blinks a few times, shaking the uncalled memory from his mind at Rufio's broad grin as he comes round to the far side of the fire, kicking dirt up at the other cloaked boys before falling down in a heap beside the blond.

Felix stands, gangly and unsure. He figures he should probably sit down but remains standing lest he offend anyone. There's no way to tell who among these boys is more important, who he's most likely to offend with the wrong gesture. It's obvious Peter Pan is the leader, but after that, the status quo is nebulous and impossible to tell.

The other four peer at Felix from under their hoods. He can feel his face heating up. For a moment he consumes himself with the thought of saying something intelligent, of having some witty remark that will let them know that he  _should be_ standing here, in their little semicircle - more organized than all the rest.

When his tongue refuses to wag, however, Felix knows how this will go. He's going to bore them. They'll see Rufio shouldn't have led him over after all, he'll be pushed outside the rest of it, worse off than before.

Why does he have to be so  _stupid?_

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

_Stupid, dumb, giant, fucking waste of space._

Rufio snickers. Felix can feel himself flush, going redder and redder before expelling all color to leave himself cold and shivering. This is it, and all because he couldn't conjure up the words, just like always -

"This's Felix." Rufio says and Felix feels the tidal wave of pure  _shame_ crash over him. He'd waited too long to introduce himself and now they're going to think he's stupid. He almost doesn't hear what comes next, "I think he's here for the long haul."

_What?_

Felix blinks away the scenes in his head to see the five boys before him, looking at him with something that Felix might tentatively want to call  _intrigue._

"Do you, Rufio?" A strong - orotund - voice asks. After a moment Felix can attribute it to the dark boy poking the flames ineffectually with a winding branch. "Think he'll make it for good?"

Felix stomach jolts.  _What are they talking about?_

" _Probably_ ," Rufio grins. "I haven't seen him fight yet, so how he'll be in battle is anyone's guess."

_Battle?_

"Well," A higher voice almost croaks, this one's from a soft-faced kid with a head full of wispy curls. "I'm just happy to see a full camp again."

"That's just 'cause you like to babysit," The blond from earlier grumbles in an odd accent, glaring harshly at the curly-headed boy. A little too harshly, but Felix won't question it.

A place free from adults is bound to have its own odd politics.

The other three, however, seem to groan at the blond's glare and Rufio rolls his eyes. "Monsieur Overcompensating over there's Slightly."

From Slightly: " _Oh shut up."_

Rufio pays no mind and gestures to the boy with the curls; announces his name as Curly which Felix thinks is a little on-the-nose. He really shouldn't make judgements like that, though. The dark boy with the orotund voice is Tootles and lounging on his stomach beside him, the boy with the bandaged hand, Nibs.

"And there you have it," Rufio says. "The first of the Lost Boys."

"Or what's left of us," Tootles mumbles, a little wistfully.

Felix moves to reply, but the carefully constructed dialogue in his mind flies from its original trajectory when, with a flash of green light behind him, and a roll to the eyes from Rufio, sounds the voice Felix already knows he'd recognize anywhere: Peter Pan.

"Getting lazy already? How about a game?"

Felix spins. He must have been the only one still standing in the entire camp because, as though automated, every body around him heaves itself up, jumps into the air. A few fists offer themselves to the canopies, a few whoops and hollers. And Pan grins, broad and manic and looking like everything in the world - any world - that's dark and frightening and exciting all at once.

"All you have to do," Peter Pan's grin falls, only enough so that his lips can venture to form words, "Is cross the island to find your prisoner. _"_

Felix knows this game, he realizes with a start. They called it Chivy back in Camelot, it's one Felix used to play with the other children nearby, before they got too old to waste their valuable time in the fields. It's been so long since he's had the time to run for anything other than training. It's been so long since he's got the chance to laugh, it tugs on his lips, foreign.

Pan finishes his explanation. "Whichever team brings their prisoner back to camp first  _wins."_

There's something in that word, in the way Peter Pan  _said_ it, that makes it seem as though winning is the most important thing in the world. As though this one victory alone will be Felix's crowning glory.

"All right, then. Let's play."

With a wave to the hands a turret of dark green smoke wraps around the campsite; surrounded by dark and shadowy shapes, Felix coughs and waves his arms around him to clear his line of sight. The sun doesn't return and, with a panicked tremor in his chest, Felix jumps away. He's able to swallow the shout down his throat, although not everyone does and he's suddenly enveloped in a terrifying round of an echoing scream.

A cave, Felix realizes. They're in a cave. That smoke must have transported them here. This must be their home base for the game. The rest of the boys seem to be coming to a similar conclusion, because the last echo of screams dies with an inane reverberation, holding in the air longer than it has to, and everyone is blinking about themselves, dumbly.

In the darkness around them, Felix can make out Rufio standing beside them, and on either side of him, Curly and...that other one. Oh, what was his name?

Felix figures it doesn't matter and takes a step closer to the senior boys, ready to listen to the strategy.

As he steps, there's a faint glimmer by the curly-headed boy's arm. Felix squints and realizes that this boy is their prisoner. He's shackled to the cave wall by something that's  _glowing._ It's not iron or rope or even gold, but something magic. Felix holds his breath and tries not to let it impress him. There are more important things for him to worry about - winning. Victory.

There's, perhaps, eight other boys, besides himself and the two unshackled senior boys. So ten altogether. Depending on the spread of the field, maybe four should stay behind to defend their prisoner and the last and then the other seven should go and look for the other's. But, Felix huffs, perhaps that wouldn't be enough. He doesn't know anything about the other team, doesn't know how they'll want to play. He sighs and looks over to the seniors, sighing, resigned to listen to their plan.

"Well what're you waiting for?" The other boy, the one whose name Felix can't recall - Slightly, he remembers with a jolt - says. "Go on."

_Wait. What?_

Felix frowns as the cave tremors with whoops and hollers and the entire company flies out from the cave.

This...this isn't the sort of game one can simply run out into the fray and hope to survive.

Taking a step towards the seniors, Felix frowns. "Did I miss something?"

Rufio cocks his head, looking oddly like a small pup confronted with something impeccably confusing. "What do you mean?"

"The strategy." Felix clarifies.

And, to this, Rufio laughs, out right. Felix's ears burn at the sound.

"That's not how we play, Felix." Rufio grins. "You just go for it."

Felix isn't sure he likes the sound of that, but he doesn't have the seniority to say. And so, he nods.

"We're on the defensive, then?"

Rufio chortles. "If you want to be. Do whatever you like best."

With narrowed eyes, Felix looks over to the boy chained to the wall and the blond boy looking very pointedly at his own feet beside him. "Shouldn't someone guard him?"

It seems as though Felix said something incredibly amusing, for in the next moment Rufio nearly doubles over with his laughter. "Oh, don't worry. Slightly's got a handle on that. Don't you, Slights?"

"Wait? Wha?  _No!"_ The blond promptly splutters the instant the shorter boy speaks and laughs directly in his face.

"Too late!" Rufio chimes and, pivoting on his heels, dashes from the cave, leaving Felix with Slightly's scorching gaze. He has nothing to say, and so, with an awkward sort of bow, backs out into the mouth of the cave.

This game is going to be chaos, Felix knows, but there's no way he can win if he doesn't even try to play. Besides, except for a lack of strategy, it's bound to be the same as the sort he's played before.

He slips on a swath of slick leaves, his hip slaps against the forest floor and, heart vibrating out of his chest, he starts to curl into a ball. He's not quick enough, though, or else his limbs are too long. The other two boys behind leap over his head. The scuffle between the two starts before they hit the ground. Felix scrambles to his feet. He should turn around and bolt in the opposite direction. He still has no idea where the other team's prison is, but he can't figure it out if he's down and out.

But it's all such a fucking disaster that he can't look away.

The boys in the scuffle strain and tug at each other, pulling hair and kicking and jabbing elbows, they whiffle out their porcine grunts and pouts.

"Hey!" One says, "I pinned ya! You're done!"

"Uh-uh!" The other returns, "That don't count."

A scuffle, someone spits, Felix really should go.

"Why not?" This boy has the other in a headlock, pressed down into the dirt.

"Because we're under a big tree. Pinning people only works under the sky."

"That's bullshit! You pinned somebody two second before I started chasing ya."

" _Under the sky!"_

The boy huffs, cross and glaring. "Well I kept you down so that counts for something. You're  _out."_

_"Nuh-uh!"_

The syndrome keeping Felix rooted to the spot dies the second the two plunge into a chorus of "Uh-huh" and "Nuh-uh!" But as he turns to stalk out of the forest, he finds himself abruptly walking into another boy's chest. A stocky trunk of a boy looks up at him, dark eyes glinting.

"Rufio?"

The boy in question grins again and Felix takes a sharp breath. Maybe they've come up with a battle plan of some kind. "What-" he starts to ask but with an expertly calculated kick to the knees, collapses under himself. There'll be bruises on his shoulder blades tomorrow, and he blinks away the confusion that dots in front of his eyes along with the stars.

Rufio crouches over him, grin wide enough to swallow him whole. Felix purses his lips.

"What? We're on the same team!"

The tan boy shrugs. "So?"

"You won't want to get me out."

"But I really did." Rufio grins, he takes a look around himself, barking a laugh when his eyes meet the skirmish Felix had only just turned away from, the two still bickering about rules that were never involved in this game to begin with.

In a fleeting attempt to gain purchase on the ground, Felix shuffles to his feet. Rufio frowns at him. "Where are you going? I tackled you."

 _Is he kidding?_ "I'm on your team."

"So?"

"You can't get people on your own team out.'

"Says who?"

Felix blinks. He isn't sure where he's heard that rule before, it just always seemed to inherent. But nobody ever told him that you  _can't_ get members of your own team out. And so, he shrugs.

"If you want to get a life back, oh, I dunno, go and find the other prisons. And then come back and tell me where."

A sharp breath in, Felix rolls onto one hip. "You want me to cheat?"

"No. Of course not," Rufio wrinkles his nose with a wag to his head. "We're  _bending_ the rules a little. Make it to the other team's side and you'll get to play again."

"That isn't how this game works."

And Rufio, annoying and contrary as possible, grins. "Your other option is to go back to camp and sit with all the other losers."

Gnawing, only a little on his cheek, Felix nods. "Okay. I'll do it."

 

It's chaos. The children running through forests and ravines, splashing and getting caught in the undertow of less-than-benevolent rivers. A few of them have picked up staves and mimic swordfights right on the uneven ground, perhaps to decide who's out. Some of them climb trees and swing on vines. Some try to mount monkeys and wild equines. Most of the time, Felix figures, it's to decide who will be Out. It's never the same.

And he still hasn't found the other team's prison.

He manages to circle around the gameplay relatively unseen. Or, if he is seen, perhaps he wears a brand on his face that tells everyone he is Out of the Game by his Own Teammate. Or perhaps they figure the tall boy circling in the shadows doesn't promise as much fun as the numerous other rough-and-tumble alternatives. Whatever the reason, Felix hides in the shadows and continues.

Waiting near a thicket for two of the younger ones to finish their skirmish, Felix quirks a small grin in lieu of how quick they both were to extend their claws, slapping and cutting at each others, laughing all the while.

Nails and teeth and heavy wrestling was all he saw, both of them tiny bundles of energy. But then, before Felix's very eyes, it melts. As quick as it had begun, the two young boys sit beside each other. One taps his bloodied lip, the other smears a cut in his cheek onto the other side of his face.

"Which one of us is out now?" The boy with the cut cheek asks, lips out in a pout.

"I dunno," The one with the bloodied lip says. "I think it should be you though."

A pout. "But I don't wanna stop playing."

"I don't either."

The boy with the cut cheek jolts up to his feet, as though rendered with a sudden epiphany. He extends his hand excitedly, the perfect solution so ready on his mouth. "Rock-Paper-Scissors. Okay?"

 

A boy gets tackled right in front of Felix, under a heavy cover of leaves and nobody as much as whispered that tackling only ever works under the sky.

There's a chill in the air, warm and wet heat gone with the broad-leaved and smooth-barked trees. He presses on, surprised to find himself shivering. Lower jaw beginning to tremble with the cold, Felix shakes it away. There's a pang in his stomach when his eyes adjust to the deciduous and evergreens. It looks like Camelot. Of all places Felix thought this magical land could mimic,  _Camelot_ sure as hell wasn't one of them.

A heavy breath and Felix decides to brave it. The memory can't be too damning. If his team had their prison in the jungle, perhaps it makes sense that the other would have their compound in the forest. Or the mountains and cliffs peaking over the tops of the trees that Felix can, suddenly, see. Or if there is one, the desert, the beaches. (But how many environments can one island have?) He sighs huffily, wishing that Peter Pan had given more instructions, rules, the perimeter. Anything.

Blowing air sharply out of his nose, Felix winces when he steps on a dry twig. Waits for a stampede of boys to run from the brush to tackle him down and spit in his face that he's  _Out! Out! You're out!_

What comes instead makes Felix's blood run cold. A low rumbling, like thunder bubbling and boiling on the horizon. Pivoting on his heels, centimeter by centimeter, Felix twists. The rumbling, the thunder, grows and climaxes to an animalistic snarl. Phlegm and saliva crackles in the sound.

But there's nothing there for him to see. No, that's not it. Camouflage. He stands, still as the grass and stiff as a pin.

And then, with a second snarl, it emerges. An enormous cat, red-orange and black striped feline prowls out, arching and displaying the terrifying steeple in his spine. Everything frightening and evil in the world, such an awful beast. Some kind of descendant of the Palug cat.

-it's called a Tiger, isn't it? Felix swears he's read of these before. If he's about to be eaten alive, then, at least he's going to be able to report what killed him when he arrives in the Otherworld in rags and bloody ribbons.

The creature studies him, bears its teeth, and with a final snarl disappears into the ferns and wet heat of the jungle.

Knees almost giving out under him, Felix takes a sharp breath. So perhaps this part of the island isn't so much like Camelot after all.

On the one hand, the mountains are beautiful. Large dark slopes and thick layered sandstone. On the other, Felix feels as though he's about to faint. He groans quietly, quivering in his knees when he sees a bird dart and fly  _under_ him. He's never been up this high before, high above the rest of the world. Nothing but the clouds above him.

He's going to faint. He's going to faint and he's going to fall off the cliff. Dead upon arrival. His limbs are going to be strewn on the foliage and he's going to be supper for that tiger.

_Focus, Felix._

Inching in closer to the side of the cliff, Felix focuses on the nooks and crannies in front of him, looking for a cave, some place that they could be hiding their prisoner.

The sky is flushing pink and orange, streaked with blues and purples. Utterly breathtaking. He goes to grin at the sight, but finds himself already smiling. The sun falls, retreating almost visibly under the sea. Soon the waters will douse the light, everything blue and black and glinting silvery white. But, for now, it's orange and pink and absolutely gorgeous. Surrounded by color. It's magic; natural magic. Almost like what Felix is accustomed to. But the sunset in Camelot never made him feel like this. Never made him feel  _free._

He's cut short, a moment later. The green smoke materialized from nothing at all and by the time Felix blinks away the verdigris, he's standing in camp again. Peter Pan stands in the center, holding up the hand of an obscenely handsome boy with dark hair, a thick brow and set jaw.

"We have our winner," Peter Pan grins. A tight ball of electricity surges under Felix's spine and he can't quite pinpoint where exactly the envy hails from. Peter Pan continues: "And only four casualties. Not bad. How about supper and a dance to celebrate?"

Felix loads up a tin plate with dried meats and fruits and retreats to the far corner of camp, intent to sit and chew on his shame. Not only didn't he win, he didn't even get anyone else out. He groaned.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"Oy! Felix, where're ya going?" Rufio calls the moment Felix turns to sit in his own secluded corner. "We're over here."

Felix can't hide his smirk as he crosses camp, in front of everyone else, to sit with the senior boys. His pride swells in knowing that they, or at least Rufio, want him around.

 

 

The dance passed much like it had in Camelot, with Felix sitting and observing the wild and carefree way the boys whoop and holler and leap over one another as though they hadn't just been accosting each other for the past few hours. The melody was just as haunting, if not more, allowed to swell and crescendo with the forest around them boosting its acoustics and providing a bassline, contributing to it, rather than just lying in the backdrop.

Felix was entranced. He hardly even noticed when Pan removed the pipes from his lips and stood, watching the rest of the boys jump and whoop and holler. A funny notion, really, considering Felix hadn't taken his eyes off Pan the whole time.

And now, to Felix's surprise, the fire has shriveled into embers and coal and the boys are yawning, blinking to stay awake.

Tootles and Slightly seem to take the lead here, walking to the hollowed out tree and throwing out pelts and furs and long cotton blankets with ropes attached to them.

Rufio nudges Felix on his way to the pile. "First come first serve, y'might want to get jumping on it."

As though on cue, the boys leap on the blankets and pelts. There are a few barking laughs; Felix can hear a few good-natured punches, fists slammed into faces and the camp is up in chaos once more.

 _Camp,_ though, Felix thinks, is being more than a little generous. A fire pit , a knobby rotisserie, and a collection of blankets isn't exactly a home.

He finds a scrawny boy huddled under one of the roped blankets. With a roll to his eyes, he uses the rope as a latch and pulls it off the kid. He springs up. "Hey!"

And, funnily enough, all Felix has to do is glare at him before he backs away, hands up and walking backwards back to the pile, hoping there's a hide he can huddle under.

With a small chuckle, Felix holds the blanket tight in his fists, lest another boy get the same idea as him. He walks to a pair of trees with low-hanging branches and fashions a slipknot on either end of the ropes holding the blanket up. His is the first hammock fashioned that night.

A chorus of " _Ohh!"_ behind him materializes off his shoulder and Felix tries not to flush red at the realization that they'd been watching him the whole time. He twists around, the crowd of new boys duck their heads down with a gasp, but the group of seniors, pulling out their own hammocks from a separate tree grin at him. Rufio grins, Nibs pumps a bandaged hand in the air, Curly laughs and Slightly gives a mocking applause. Tootles offers him a salute.

Felix's eyes dart around camp to see Pan's reaction. The magical boy isn't here.

Resigned, Felix sighs and carefully slides onto the hammock. He uses his arm as a makeshift pillow, bent under his head as he lies on his back, pleased to see that there's a large gap in the trees right above his head.

And, for the first time in Felix doesn't know how long, he's able to sigh and call it  _contentment_.

Felix's eyes snap open at the blood curdling screech. High and reverberating in the sky beside the scent of burning hair. He sits up straight with just enough time to see a boy, cocooned in a thin pelt and bright yellow flame. His scream brings the rest of the camp to sit up.

The boy continues to roll in attempt to douse the flame, a few others pound their blankets against his body, and after a great while, he stops thrashing.

A weak "I'm okay" is all that's left of the event. Here and gone, so quickly. So ineffectual. Felix sighs and lies back down. The kid must've rolled into the fire. Of course he did, Felix thinks huffly, they're all lying far too close to the embers.

He thinks briefly of the tiger he saw earlier, and suddenly he can empathize with their enormous gap in judgement. He wouldn't want to be away from a defense, left to sleep on the ground to be anything's prey either.

The little ones are the first to cry. Felix isn't sure why it surprises him. Of course they're going to sob through their snotty noses and wail into their arms and blankets. All of the young ones wailing out  _Mama_ or  _Papa_ or  _Grandmother_ or  _Sissy_ or  _Nanny_ or any other assortment of caretakers, wailing out. Every last one of them wanting to be back in their own beds. Perhaps, Felix thinks, come morning they will.

It does take him by surprise, however, when deeper voices join the wails. Older boys, boys on the brink of adulthood, sobbing, loud and without abandon, crying for their beds.

It's pathetic.

Felix frowns, stares up at the skies. His mother probably hasn't realized Felix is gone. Between waxing poetic about Melot's three-year-old knighthood and running a "respectable" household, Felix would be surprised if she even noticed that he wasn't there. And, even if she did, she wouldn't care. Nobody back home would.

He can still hear the boys weeping. Felix growls at the swell of sound and lies flat on his back to stares at the sky. The stars are patchy in the sky, foreign patterns in the pinpricks of light, spaced out and sporadic. Absently, to drown out the wails and cries surrounding him, he tries to make shapes out of the patterns. There's a triangle, a handful of squares, and a few uniform shapes laid out haphazardly in the sky, as though the gods had decided to pepper the night skies with stars in every other place first and ran out of ideas before they got here, and thus tossed the remaining specks into the darkness with no regard or outline.

Funny, funny thoughts.

 

 

_Felix blinks as a field materializes in front of him, a dirt thickened arena, covered spaces where the boys from the camp stand and watch alongside townsfolk and courtiers from Camelot._

_On the one end of the arena, Felix recognizes his brother through his armor. Tall and wide, his head lifted as it caps over the breastplate of his armor. He looks like a snob of a turtle like that._

_In the other, there's the tiger._

_A trumpet sounds and his brother charges the beast. Everyone in the arena moves to stand, grows a foot at least. And they keep growing._

_And keep growing._

_And keep growing till Felix is hidden underneath their shins and their skirts, a speck of a human among the dirt and the insects around them._

" _There you are," A rich, smooth voice sounds next. Felix flips on himself and finds himself nose-to-nose with Peter Pan. "Aren't you coming?" He says, the phrase wafts out of his mouth more like a fact than a request. Like a sliver of cake after a bitter meal. Shooting down his throat and through his veins as an absolute truth._

_Aren't you coming?_

_He feels his mother's hand on the back of his hair, throwing his head back so he can't curl in on himself. The birch hits against his skin, it splits open on impact. Pain grows, skin and clothes splits open like a husk and leaving him bared and bloodied._

_Aren't you coming?_

_The Lost Boys laugh, high and manic, flying through and over the enormous bodies of the crowd watching Felix's brother take on a tiger and - no doubt - win. They use the trunks and legs as branches, shinnying up and down, beating each other and racing and laughing and pegging each other with glinting swords._

_Aren't you coming?_

_Peter Pan stands in front of him. Smiles with fiery eyes. Promises him the whole world without uttering a syllable._

_Aren't you coming?_

 

 

He jolts up in the hammock, swaying with the motion. If not for a surprise burst of equilibrium, he would've hit the forest floor.

With deep breaths to calm himself, Felix shakes his head. It was only a nightmare. It's harmless and will be gone in the morning. He knows these things, and yet, when he lies back down to rest on the hammock, he isn't exactly looking forward to falling back asleep.

The stars, with their random array, are fading. The sky is edging on blue, gaining the promise of light. Day isn't too far away so, as luck would have it, Felix doesn't have to fall back asleep. A quick auditory survey of blubbery snores and deep breaths tells him the rest - or the majority, at least - of the boys are still sleeping. No matter; he might as well take in his surroundings. The way the world diffuses from dark to light, gradually yes, but in all places at once. It's free of the streaks and smears of sunset, cleaner and more refreshing. A new promise and a new day. A slate that they'll streak and smear while the sun is high, and the setting sun will pose as a review for all they'll do wrong later. But for now, it's light.

Robin's egg blue. Light.

That time before life begins, when the coals cough out their last breaths and wither and die, the nocturnal creatures scamper off into their beds, rushing to complete their duties before the run reaches actualization. Felix grins and takes in the last toxicity of the night air and the rays of light purifying it.

Periwinkle bordered in orange. Light.

In Camelot he'd just be shoving the covers off his legs, ripping the curtains from around the bed. He never paid attention to the sunrise there, either shrugging on a doublet for the day and groaning as he began the endless list of to-dos. Otherwise he'd be rolling over beside the falconer's apprentice and messing around as long as they could manage before either he or Felix (usually the former) had to bolt and observe his obligations.

The sky's such a light blue it almost looks white. White light.

If he were in Camelot, Felix would have a list of duties to fulfil. Lessons about history and understanding language and chivalry from the Knights of the Round Table and trade and vocabulary and, at the very least, Felix would want to tear his hair out. He doesn't know what the day will bring here, in Neverland, but at the very least it won't be that. He won't have to listen to his brother complain about how expensive it is to manufacture his own seal or how heavy a sword is or how confusing life is in court. He won't have to listen to his older sister complain about her stepdaughter or marriage or how she wants to move to the city where interesting things happen.

 

* * *

 

One of the newer boys keeps track of the days with notches on a kapok tree. It's been almost a month, Felix realizes when he bothers to look at it. The Boys still cry at night, though nobody has actually asked to go home after that first morning, when a boy ventured to ask and found himself crumpled on the ground, shadow ripped from his body.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Nibs had said, scratching the back of his neck. "He just wanted to set an example, y'know?"

From Curly: "He said you can't leave. He doesn't like to be asked twice."

If you ask Felix, it seems as though Peter Pan is something of a tyrant. But at least he always thinks up fun games to play.

Things are only ever organized when Pan comes down to play. There are days when the boys almost starve, holding their bellies and wailing, lamenting about being hungry before Tootles slaps them upside the head and tells them to go hunting. "Don't whine about it, if you're hungry find something to eat."

And, because there's no way to ration it - people eat what they catch - fights break out almost nightly over who gets the food. If it weren't for Curly going out of his way to feed the youngest of the company, Felix was sure they'd all die within the first few weeks.

But, for some reason, they're supposed to forget that when Pan comes down to play.

Today's a scavenger hunt. Felix can think of approximately twenty ways it can go wrong, not the least of it being that a small group had decided to look for wild boars and fruit at the same time. Despite the fact that Pan's grin beckons him, Felix remains seated beside the other senior boys. Perhaps someday, by association, Pan will look him in the eyes. In the meantime, he sits and leans on his elbows, watches Nibs rebandage his hand after losing another finger. He listens to Rufio and Tootles banter and to Curly and Slightly bicker with pink tinged on their faces. And he sits and waits for Pan to return and notice the kid sitting among his tenured lieutenants.

"What I just don't understand is why you want to mother them all the time," Slightly says, lounging in their semicircle, braiding a few strings of leather together, looking down in a pathetic attempt to hide his blush. "Are you compensating for something, Curly?"

Curly yips."Shut up."

"No, I wanna know."

"I don't wanna see 'em die. If that's not obvious." Curly says, voice hinting at snapping. "Just 'cause they're Lost Boys doesn't mean they can do everything on their own."

"Sure it does," Rufio butts in. "They wouldn't be here if they weren't ready to handle it-"

" _Nibs_ isn't ready to handle it," Tootles mutters under his breath, lips curled down as his friend struggles to untangle himself as he winds cloth around his bloody fist.

"Hey, I've survived longer than most of them!" Nibs sticks his tongue out at Tootles and resumes his task.

From his place in the circle, Felix speaks up. "What do you mean?" All eyes snap to him and Felix's stomach lurches but he presses on. "You survived longer than most of them?"

Nibs sighs and Tootles looks in the other direction, Curly pats down his hair and Slightly seems to think that's enough reason to push Curly off the log.

Rufio responds. "There used to be a lot more of us, that's all. Between games and battles with the faeries and monsters and all that, we just sorta- _thinned out."_

"So you're just waiting for everyone to die?"

"No!" Rufio says, and then he pauses. "Not exactly. We're bound to lose numbers at this point."

Tootles aims for tact when he says, "We're pretty sure you're gonna make it for the long haul."

"You're not the type to go wandering into dreamshade or nothing." Rufio adds.

"You don't even run off to play the games. You're safer than the rest." Nibs smiles finishing off his bandage.

Felix reclines, mouth creasing in with a frown. They chose to befriend him, so it seems, because he was the safe option. Because he's the old dog who will laze with them and not run off into the forest. Because he's boring.

It stings more than he's willing to admit.

"What does Pan think," He asks, "About you five picking and choosing who you think will survive?"

"I don't think he notices." Rufio says.

With a laugh, Slightly joins in, "He doesn't care right now. He's having too much fun weeding out the new ones to worry about us.

"Will he?" Felix almost whispers, stomach constricting at the thought. Of course. His attempt to get the leader's attention was counterproductive the whole time. Joining the ranks of his lieutenants only meant that the enigmatic Peter Pan wouldn't pay him a passing glance. It makes sense that Pan would assume the tenured Lost Boys knew what they were doing.

For some reason, Felix wants to pull on his hair at the realization. And even more so when he's able to decipher the boys' reaction. They're laughing at him. He can feel his ears get hot and he hopes it doesn't lessen the intensity in his glare. " _What?"_

"He'll pay attention to whatever gets his attention," Curly explains. "And us taking in one new recruit under our wings isn't exactly exciting enough for Pan's tastes."

"Does everything have to be exciting?"

"'fraid so. Pan's the type to bore easily."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special additional thanks to pandasushiroll for the idea of how Neverland's magic works. :)

Felix can't help but wonder if, perhaps, Pan is the type to bore easily because he's so flighty. Especially when it comes to actually spending time with his friends. The kid dodges in and around different groups, throwing his arms around some one minute and is challenging others to a boxing match the next. Felix can't tell if it's a  _symptom_ of the boredom Curly mentions or the cause.

But that isn't, at this moment in time, Felix's concern. Felix's immediate concern doesn't revolve around Pan either way. He doesn't care that the magical boy is nowhere to be found, leaving the rest of the Lost Boys unattended with clumsy games of their own invention, surrounded by sharp sticks. He really doesn't.

Especially not now, now that he's included in something else. Even if it doesn't involve Pan, it still  _matters_. After all, a small group of his friends - the senior boys who had taken him under their wings - had thrown him out of his hammock this morning with a round of rough laughs. It was important enough to them to rouse him before they began their games.

"C'mon, princess," Rufio laughed with a twinkle in his eye. "We're headin' to the Northwest corner."

Felix eyed them all with a sleepy dissonance, looked from Rufio's bright eyes. And then to Nibs's spacey grin and Tootles' rolling eyes.

They'd asked him to come along, requested his presence, no matter how odd that request came off, and so of course Felix obliged them. He trods at their heels, and made sure not to step in front of any of them as he followed their gaits.

Rufio's steps are clunky, he walks with heavy feet. But they are straight and determined, a sentiment Felix could get behind if Rufio didn't rattle the forest 'round him, scaring anything nearby to flutter into the underbrush. He wonders, in all honesty, how he ever gets anything when he hunts if this is how he walks. But, for all its lack of poise, it's brisk and confident. And perhaps the clunkiness is owed to nothing more than ill-fitting shoes.

Because he's at the head of the company, it almost makes sense that Tootles' steps are oddly graceful, he steps sure-footedly, confident and rooted at the knees but light on foot. He moves as though he expects the ground to sway underneath him, ready to correct his gait mid-step and move according to the pulse underneath him. He moves, Felix realizes, like men who step off a vessel and onto a dock, headed straight for their supply barrels. As though he's accustomed to his surroundings turning against him, and more accustomed still of lashing them into submission.

Nibs is another matter entirely. He meanders around. If Felix weren't watching he'd hardly realize how often the kid trips over his feet, he turns it into a skip or leap so frequently. It's as though Nibs hasn't known hardship, like he's never seen an innocent boy roll into a bonfire at night. It's as though all that's ahead of him is the forest, as though he has no recognition that the hike will, eventually, end.

Wherever it will end. The question spikes in Felix at the realization. He knows they're on their way to the Northwest corner but what, exactly, are they heading to?

The silence shatters when it breaks, Felix hates to be the one to end it, but information comes before comfort. If they're anticipating a fight, a hunt, or even to find someone who might attack the Boys, Felix needs to know. He hasn't even brought a knife along with him.

"What's the plan?" He asks, stepping up onto an upturned root.

"We're headed to the Northwest corner," Rufio replies, again, distractedly.

Felix tries not to rolls his eyes, but perhaps not hard enough. "That much I figured."

"'s where the Kaw tribe lives," Nibs responds happily, arms swinging by his sides. "We need to borrow some arrows for dinner. Well - to catch dinner."

Tootles nods. "The newbies've been breaking 'em."

Felix doesn't doubt that. But it's the least interesting part of his newest information. "Kaw tribe?" He asks.

"Yeah," Tootles says. "They're one of the groups of islanders that live here."

"There's two of 'em." Rufio adds in, "The Kaws are Pan's favorite at the moment."

"I thought we were the only ones." Felix murmured, stepping over a root.

"On the island?" Nibs asked, eyes wide as he tripped on that same root. "Nah. Not anymore."

"Anymore?"

"Pan insists he was the first person to live here," Rufio clarifies. "Him and a few shadows. And then the rest of us came along, we were able to add stuff in back then."

Felix blinks. "What do you mean?"

With a shrug, Rufio gestures around himself. "Back when we first got here, we could put things on the island. Anything you could think of. Creatures, beings-"

"Pumpkin patches!" Nibs calls out happily.

Rufio nods impatiently. "Yeah. We just had to believe things're on the island and they would be. Like, an old friend of ours - died a long time ago - Tubby, wanted to go on an adventure and the next day a whole family of chimeras popped up. It was really cool actually. Dryads and tigers and hot springs all showed up and different seasons and mermaids-"

"Mermaids can go between realms whenever they want." Tootles interjects. "They don't count."

"Doesn't matter," Rufio shoves his friend playfully. "The point's the same."

"And so these things _,_ " Felix senses his ears turning red at his repeated prying. But the alternative was attempting to piece it all together on his own. "Are they real or just make believe?"

Tootles chuckled and rubbed the back of the neck. "It's all real, all right. The magic could never actually create life. It just made loopholes to bring it to us. The Kaw tribe we're going off to see was trailing a herd of some big animal and stumbled through a rip in Neverland's fabric and wound up here."

Felix sends Tootles a look meant to ask for elaboration, and luckily the boy understands.

"There're rips sometimes between Neverland and other worlds. It's why you could just fly from Camelot to here - that's the rip. Back when the magic was still working right, they'd open and close but I guess a few of them just stuck."

"Magic isn't working right?" Felix asks, quickening his pace in hopes that it would suggest something other than cluelessness.

Rufio cuts in: "Nah. The more people who came to the island, the more the magic got used, and it just got harder and harder to use. And now it don't work anymore at all."

"Why did it stop?"

"We dunno." Rufio chuckles. "Maybe we used it all up or something."

"How don't you know?" almost spills out of Felix's lips but he stops the accusing statement before it can make it out of his throat. He's simply still too accustomed to the way of life in Camelot. He hadn't been anticipating culture shock when he took hold of the shadow's hand. It seems peculiar to Felix that they wouldn't know the history of their own island. But, if he's been figuring it right, they're still all relatively new to the island. Maybe a century or so in, enough time for a cluster of Boys to Thin themselves Out but in the grand scheme of things, it hasn't been that long. Perhaps they have nothing documented, Pan hasn't told them the legends. Life in Camelot practically revolved around the mythos and past, it might be nothing more than culture shock. The one thing that Felix finds surprising in an, almost, distasteful way.

Instead of the accusation, then, Felix inquires. "What else is there?"

"What?" Rufio returns.

"On the island." Felix clarifies. "There are Lost Boys and islanders. Who else lives here?"

"I reckon you'll find a bit of everything if you know how to look," Rufio says, swatting at a glowing insect. Felix tries not to find irony in his words with how haphazard and careless his steps are.

"We know for a fact mermaids like to live in the lagoon on the East edge of the island." Tootles says, he pauses for a moment, wheels spinning in his mind, before he adds. "Nasty creatures, don't mess with them."

"Don't forget about the faeries!" Nibs cuts in, scuttling back to the three from where he wandered off.

"Faeries?" Felix echoes, going white at the prospect of the fair folk of history following him here.

Nibs nods. "There's a whole group of 'em living over at Pixie Hollow. They keep on multiplying, which is weird to me because they're all girls."

"What?" Felix tilts his head. That isn't right…there's a large portion of fair folk with all sorts of identifiers.

"There's all kinds," Nibs continues. "Some are really tiny and like to change size. They even talk, like, four different languages. Some have big butterfly wings, some have bat wings or feathers. Kinda cool, huh?"

Felix furrows his brow.

"Of course," Nibs says, rubbing his hand absently over a bandage where his ring finger should be. "They come from different worlds. Kinda like us. I'm not sure why though. I'm not sure what the magic did to get them to come running here. Guess the water at Pixie Hollow's really great or something."

"And I'm sure the pixie dust growing on  _trees_ has nothing to do with it." Tootles elbows Nibs in the chest with a friendly grin.

"That too," Nibs says cheerfully.

Embarrassed by his own inquisition, Felix turns to Rufio and hopes the others won't hear when he asks, "Different worlds? Like us?"

"Sure." Rufio says, kicking up the vines and moss as they cross from jungle to a more deciduous terrain. The air changes around them, uncomfortably dry in Felix's lungs. "Neverland's got some kind of  _tear_ in it. Basically, there's a way to get to and from the island no matter world or realm you're in. Realm jumping is different depending on where you're from. But for the most part you need a magic bean or ruby slippers or some shit like that. From Neverland, you just have to figure out a way to fly in and out. Or else slip through one of those portals in the sea, but I think that's in every world  _with_ a sea. The faeries probably just fly here when they hear about the pixie dust or somethin'."

Felix nods to bid Rufio continue. "And us?"

"I'm sure you've noticed that the Lost Boys aren't all from the same place." Rufio shrugs. "I guess Pan just wanted a diverse group of friends. The first lot was mostly from Misthaven - some magic realm Pan likes. But none of those boys made it very long. The second is Camelot, apparently. But, really, we're from all over the place, even some of you newbies."

Rufio steps on a rock before jumping off, nearly on Felix's heels in an attempt to spook him before he continues.

"Like my land. Asero Bayan, it's called. We didn't really have magic but we had...machines. Lots of machines. And cogs and steam and factories. If you weren't rich you were miserable. So Pan came and I haven't looked back since," Rufio says with some finality. "Tootles is from another land without magic. Did a lot on the seas though."

That explained the way Tootles walked, Felix thinks, nodding as he comes to further understand. He hoped that their conference had been private, but Nibs swings by behind them and interrupts.

"I  _think_ we had magic where I'm from." Nibs says. "Not sure. It was super taboo. I'm from Sleepy Hollow!"

"That's a stupid name," Felix spits out, hoping to diffuse his embarrassment over his naivety when it came to life here.

Rufio snorts. "You should hear what the boys from Misthaven called it."

 

It's more of a question and answer session than Felix would have liked for the rest of the journey. He'd hoped to glean knowledge through observation and prove himself intelligent enough to stand out. However, the exposition would be helpful and none of the three seemed to think ill of Felix for asking. Perhaps they held their value elsewhere.

Tootles was in the middle of explaining exactly how the mermaids made it between worlds - how above the sea you can use them only in very particular circumstances but they're hidden deep under the waters everywhere if you only know where and how to look - when they finally reach their destination.

Felix looks solemnly around, tries not to puff up with pride at the site of mothers ushering their children into huts, girls' eyes growing wide over their pottery as they passed, the boys and young men puffing up in attempt to look larger. Adults ushering each other this way or that, nobody seems brave enough to look any of them in the eye. At least, till they reach the center of the village. There's an enormous firepit and a single hut larger than all the rest. And then, strangely enough, a girl walks up to them.

Despite what the Boys had told him on their way in, Felix is surprised. He hasn't seen a girl in a great while, somehow he'd gotten it into his head that the entire island was more masculine. Evidently not.

"What?" The girl says with a sharp voice. She can't be more than fifteen or sixteen - her face is older but her audacity finishes her off with juvenile implication. Her body language is cut off, arms crossed in front of her chest. From chin to forehead she's all sharp planes and angles, black eyes and black hair twisted back, adorned with a long brown feather.

All around him, Felix's friends snicker among the three of them. Rufio clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "You're always so mean, Tiger Lily."

"Maybe that's because nothing good ever comes from you."

From behind Felix, Nibs scuffs the dirt with his heel and murmurs, "I don't know about you but I'm hurt."

"Nothing all that bad, though." Rufio counters, ignoring his friend.

From the girl: "Speak for yourself."

For her insolence towards them, Felix almost growls at her. No noise escaped from his mouth, but he must have been glowering, for her eyes slide over to him.

"Who's this?" She asks a moment later, swinging an open palm in Felix's direction.

"This's Felix," Rufio grins and sinks his weight onto one leg. "He's part of the newest bunch."

To this, Tiger Lily's expression falters. Her brows furrow and mouth pops ajar. " _Newest_...there's  _more_ of you?"

From the back of the company, Tootles responds, "Pan got a new group together. We're down to - whatsit - about twenty, now."

"Twenty?"

"More or less." Rufio agrees. "So, for a formal introduction. Tiger Lily, this is Felix. And Felix," Rufio holds his hand over his heart, chokes dramatically. "This is  _my_   _best friend,_ Tiger Lily."

"Fuck off, Rufio."

" _Aaya!"_ The sharp cry comes from a few meters away and Tiger Lily quite visibly rolls her eyes as a boy rushes up to them. He's got similar angles in his face to Tiger Lily, stands just as tall as her, but appears to have a few more years in him than her. Rather than audacity or snobbery, there's caution. He hisses to the girl, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Viho," Tiger Lily says slowly. "Relax. It's  _Rufio."_

"But Pan-"

"Isn't here. He won't cause an earthquake for me insulting one of his friends."

"I wasn't that insulted," Rufio interjects, half paying attention.

Nevertheless, the boy frowns, turns to the Lost Ones with a curt, "Excuse us" before turning back to Tiger Lily and speaking, tone blunt, in a language Felix has never heard before.

Tootles tilts his head, ear towards the set, and shakes his head. "He's just yelling at her for 'abusing' her languages."

Felix tilts his head. "What?"

Tootles waves a hand. "Pan gave a few of the younger tribe members the ability to speak English so we could communicate. Just a handful, though. I think he got tired of playing charades."

"Or it's just the easiest thing." Rufio says, he pauses to clarify, "He did it to me, too. Any of the Lost Ones who weren't good with the language in Misthaven."

To this, Felix shrugs. It makes sense to him. If Pan controls the island, he's well within his rights to be sure everyone can understand him if he wants it.

He looks over to see the unintelligible spat between siblings and Felix figures it will take a while and slides his eyes over to his friends around him. Rufio's snickering. Tootles stares at the sky - boredom lining his eyes. Nibs watches with moderate interest, and so Felix swats at Nib's unbandaged wrist to ask, " _Aaya?"_

Nibs wrinkles his nose when he smiles knowingly and responds with a whisper, "Her name. Think of 'Tiger Lily' like a nickname. That there's her brother - call him Hard-To-Hit. It's rude to them if we use their given names."

"We care about being rude to the girl who told Rufio to fuck off?"

Nibs laughs at that, pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds. "You've got a point!"

The siblings across the way grow silent now. Tiger Lily holds out two frustrated hands in the air beside her head, and Hard-To-Hit turns towards the company.

"Do you need to talk to our father?" He asks. "Or Tick Tock, perhaps?"

Rufio wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. "Nah. You'll do. We just need some arrows. A knife or two."

"You couldn't just  _make_ your own?"

" _Aaya!"_ Hard-To-Hit hisses to his sister with a glare before he turns back to the company with a resigned question. "One quiver or two?"

"Two," Rufio says. "Since you offered."

Hard-To-Hit, with a hand fleeting on his sister's shoulder, walks quickly and with purpose, barking orders in another language to the stragglers here or there. The girl, Tiger Lily, glares and pivots away.

They're given the quivers wordlessly from adults. Some are elderly, some middle aged. It shocks Felix more than witnessing a girl had. Adults? In Neverland? It seemed like a bastardization of what he assumed would be the natural order of things.

Hard-To-Hit hands Rufio a satchel, solemnly nodding to the Lost One. "Forgive my sister," He says, adjusting the strap on Rufio's shoulder. "Her blood takes...a long time to cool."

"Seems like a girl to me," Rufio shrugs flippantly. "Holding grudges for what happened during war."

A tendon in the darker boy's jaw flexes. It's clear he disagrees but has enough decorum not to say so. "Nevertheless. I'd appreciate it if her behavior didn't reach Pan."

Rufi's nose scrunches and his lip curls. "You'll have to convince all of us, man."

"What do you want?"

"We'll let you know." Rufio says, leaning on his crossbow.

Hard-To-Hit, stiff in the shoulder and in the knees, nods. "Very well."

All together, now, the Boys snicker as they turn. Felix finds himself joining in as they prance away from the camp although the context is lost on him. There was a war? It makes sense that Pan would win, though Felix doubts the Lost Ones, even the previous ones, had enough in them to take down an established community.

His eyes flicker up to the sky as they dip into the forest. The sun is still on its ascent. So much more to learn today, so much more to do. He sighs contentedly, happy that he can spend his waking hours working to something.

Catching movement in the trees, Felix stops in his spot. There's rustling and he squints. The shadows bury the detail, but he's able to make out a nest. Made of pine boughs and full shrubs, it fills the branches of a tree. And there, he sees its inhabitant. The jump is unconscious, but perhaps it can be forgiven. For there, minding its own business is an enormous winged creature, covered in colorful feathers, a bright crown atop its head and a long, winding beak, ingrown to a sharp point.

It looked ill. Perhaps someone should put it out of its misery.

 

* * *

 

At one point, Felix had wondered what was exactly exciting enough for Pan's tastes.

He's over it.

Or at least he thinks, begrudgingly rubbing dirt off his face and cupping his hands over his ears to muffle the Neverbird's screech. Kicking backwards to throw the creature off him, he hisses when the curved, convex beak snaps just in front of his nose.

He throws himself backwards, flinging himself behind a branch in attempt to deter the beast.

He peeks over his shoulder to get a better look at the swarm. A cloud of enormous birds, each one of them bigger than a horse, with bright feathers and sharp beaks speckled in red. He doesn't know when they crashed camp, but the boys hardly had any more of a warning than the din of a high screeching and the turrets of wings flapping, miniscule tornadoes flung in their faces, before they dived into the camp.

The ground splattered in red in seconds.

Felix can't tell which way is up. Every boy in camp runs, some for the forest, some dive into the trees, under upturned roots and into hollowed out logs. The birds follow when they can, snatching up wailing children in their talons. Felix can hear the screeches curdle in his veins when a boy falls from the sky. He makes impact in camp, directly on the fire. The scent of scorching flesh joins the iron tang of blood and moldy feathers.

A particularly loud caw and one of the birds - a bright teal one - starts to rise, a squirming child in his hands. This kid can't be more than seven. There's a cry, a flurry, and Curly leaps up into the air. Felix can't see the specifics but he must have wrestled the boy out of the bird's grasp because the next thing he can see clearly is Curly tumbling onto the ground, arm around the young kid. He takes a moment to pant, "You okay, Lucas?" before hustling the kid into the hollow tree. One of the birds notices and, with a predatory crowned head spirals towards the bark, shakes it. Nearly uproots it.

Without thinking, Felix runs to the burning body in the middle of camp. There's nothing else to do but reach underneath the corpse and fling as many rocks from around the firepit as he can hold. Rufio, Tootles, Slightly and a few of the newer ones seem to get a similar idea.

Felix can't tell who threw the one that lands in one of the bird's' eye. But they whoop and holler nonetheless. Another sharp cry from the winged creatures. It rises up in the air, disappearing above the canopies, impossible to make out. Three remain on the ground, crushing supplies, gobbling their meat and, no matter how many rocks or spears they throw, will not be frightened away. A boy plummets from the sky behind Felix. He tries not to scream.

And then it's over. A dark green cloud, a turret of smoke, and the noise pollution, the wind, the birds are gone. Peter Pan stands in their place, his hand outstretched to the sky. Felix's knees give out from under him, and he finds himself eating dirt.

Peter Pan frowns, not upset, but certainly  _annoyed._

"That's the eighth time this has happened," Pan announces, voice clear while the survivors file out of their hiding places.

A hand on Felix's shoulder tugs him to his feet; his glare to Rufio for trying to manhandle him dies when he sees the heavy trickle of blood on his friend's face. The rest of the fighters are in sorry shape as well. Nibs' bandaged hand is bleeding anew, Slightly holds his arm at a disturbing angle, Tootles' lip is swollen and bleeding heavily. Felix can only imagine what he looks like. But that doesn't' matter right now. He listens carefully as Pan circles the camp, eyes a thunderstorm when he evaluates every last boy standing, stepping over the few mangled bodies strewn and soaking in their own blood.

Pan continues. "The Neverbirds  _are_ an intimidating force, I'll grant you all that. But look at all of you. Hiding? Allowing your brothers to fall to their death? If there's one thing I won't _tolerate,_ it's cowards among my ranks."

Felix looks to the ground, ashamed. So many lives lost, and all because they weren't a good enough infantry. He'd fought. But it hadn't been enough.

Pan's face darkens. There's nothing left of the jovial trickster who took them to the island. "You're only willing to be Lost Boys when it's fun and games? And when the time comes to  _fight for what you want,_ you run and hide. Consider this a warning," All light fled from his eyes. Felix has never seen something so black before. "Next time, when there's a threat to the island, make sure you know how to survive - but more importantly - how to win. I don't like excuses."

It's so foreign, so strange, and Felix has to wait and stare. The shadows fall over Pan's face. His grin is more gnarled than the ingrown beaks that'd just been snapping in their faces. He stands, straight and tall, looking taller than the trees. His very presence sparks. Glows.

And Felix nods. Yes. He has to learn how to win.

"Pan," Curly takes a few tentative steps forward. "They're just kids. They're  _young."_

"So?" Pan retorts, a sharpness in his teeth that Felix can swear he's never seen before. "We all are. That's the  _point."_

Curly looks at his feet, not quite courageous enough to refute Pan, but more than courageous enough to shake Slightly off his arm when the blond boy reaches for him.

"Clean up camp. Find something for dinner." Pan sighs after a moment, as though this massacre strikes him as tedious and disappears as quickly as he'd come.

 

 

Just within the perimeters of camp, they lost five boys. If anyone who'd run survived out there is anyone's best guess. But even if they'd evaded the birds, they would have still had to worry about beasts and monsters and mermaids and faeries and the Natives and the deadliest poisons in the plants. Chances of someone under such extreme duress, not looking where they were going, and surviving was slim.

And so, after the destroyed furs and fabrics are gone, after they roll the lifeless bodies down the cliffs, it looks so empty. Perhaps this is what the boys meant when they said the boys seemed to Thin Themselves Out.

 

 

"Back in Camelot my father was a general," Felix says one afternoon, lazing beside Rufio in a hammock, staring up at the patterns of sky through the leaves.

Rufio knits his hands under his head, elbows out, swishes a sprig of mint from side to side in his mouth. "So?"

"They used to train. Study how to be knights. Take patrols of high-risk areas."

"Good for them."

Felix rolls his eyes, looks out at Rufio from underneath his hood. "Considering the Neverbirds, it seems as though it might be wise."

He doesn't know what he expected in response, but it certainly wasn't Rufio's scoff or the way he nudges him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. "Don't let Pan hear that you want to go back."

"I  _don't."_ Felix can feel his lips curl in disgust at the idea. "I'm looking out for the best interest of the Boys."

Rufio shakes his head, wraps a sinewy arm around Felix's neck, and says, "Look. You're new, The birds don't attack too much. They're always around but every once in a while they just kinda snap. There's plenty of stuff that can hurt us but we learn. There's an attack and Pan gets upset, but then he gets over it. So long as  _we_ survive, it's not a big deal."

But who, Felix wonders, could be satisfied with mere survival in a place like Neverland?

He doesn't articulate that to his friend, however, opting instead to ask the question that lies under everything else. "What does Pan think?"

"Shit, I don't know." Rufio shrugs. "Would you risk asking him?"

"Yes."

"Take my advice and don't." Rufio says. He draws a long breath, dark eyes moving from the sky to the ground as he pulls his arm away from Felix's shoulders and leaves it to hang in the empty spaces between their hips. "You're wasting your time."

Felix wasn't really about to ask Peter Pan about one of his ideas. That was the intention of bringing it to Rufio. Even if none of the Boys are willing to acknowledge it, there's a hierarchy - a long pyramid, and Felix isn't anywhere near high enough - worthy enough - to talk to Pan on his own.

But it  _would_ work. Felix knows it makes sense. If the Boys took their games, organized them, spent time training instead of just messing around, went on patrols - there wouldn't be an adversary stupid enough to try anything.

And, more to the point, Pan wants them to figure this out on their own. He said they need to learn to fight and to win. It won't happen at this rate. Felix knows; even in Neverland, you can't get anything for nothing. And so, he sighs, stands up from the hammock and leaves Rufio swinging on the cloth.

He excuses himself with a terse "I'm going for a walk" and crushes through the underbrush wondering if anyone might be a little more interested in his ideas. Perhaps Tootles. Or maybe Slightly. Curly if he can somehow make it cater to the little ones staying safe.

That, actually, might be a good idea. A hide-out for the ones who are injured or sick or too young. Any visible weak link is enough to ruin an army's credibility, after all. That was always why the boys never let him play in the fields of Camelot.

 

 

Felix walks. He's been walking. It seems like it's all he's done all day, walk up and down the perimeter of the island, looking for a hive or a nest where there might be a plot or a word against Pan. So far, no luck.

It isn't until he reaches the deciduous forest at the bottom of the cliffs that there's anything out of the ordinary. Up till then it's all the wet smell of dirt and the dry smoke carrying through the air, the bright colors of faeries whipping through the air and the vestiges of movements rippling through the vines and ferns as animals crept through the underbrush.

But he's only just stepped into the drier air and all he can hear are sharp barks and bays. Yowling and snarling. It sounds as though there's a brawl, but there's only one source. Or, Felix thinks, cantering towards the sounds, multiple sources that sound identical. Anything's possible in Neverland, after all.

He doesn't have far to go till he reaches the base of Dead Man's Peak and almost interrupts the battle. Then he drops to the ground before he's seen and permits himself to look.

An enormous wolf is pressed against the rocky wall, leading up to the mountains. Snout wrinkled up and bloody gums gleaming. Back puffed up and chest swung low. She's got four pups at her back.

The last thing Felix wants is to be taken as a threat to a wild animal, and therefore he holds his ground. The shadow looms over them, hovering in air. The wolf snarls, low and rumbling through the humid air.

Before Felix has the chance to blink, the horrid creature swoops down. A high pitched squal, a yelp, one of the shaggy pups swings through the air in the clutches of the beast. It resists and Felix doesn't have time to look away when the shadow, with its beady red eyes, rips a black silhouette from its body. The pup falls limp; the mother growls louder, snaps, and launches herself at the shadow.

It's a parry, Felix realizes with dread. The shadow uses the mother's new position to shoot behind her, fast as the light flees from a room. He seizes two pups by the scruff and rips their shaky silhouettes from their bodies, one in each fist.

The mother launches again. If Felix were to blink he'd miss it. She thrashes towards the creature, yellow teeth bared. But the soundless shadow hovers in the air, holding the souls of the three tiny pups in his grasp and reaches for the mother. She whines and thrashes, desperate to protect the last of her babies.

She isn't strong enough and collapses to the ground and the shadow pivots to the last of the pups, a blood-stained white pup, larger than the rest. He's shaking, struggling to stand, but he won't roll over and die.

Felix doesn't know why, but he's suddenly standing on his feet. A twig snaps under the ball of his foot. The years flash before his eyes, the miserable years in Camelot, the palsy amount of time he almost made some sort of life for himself here on the island.

But, to his surprise, he blinks and only sees the shadow dart away; it disappears into the shadows nearby.

Felix knows he ought to run, but something grounds him. The last of the pups sways on his legs, rushes to his mother. A red-stained pink tongue laps haplessly at her snout; the creature whines. Felix knows the feeling.

Perhaps it's pity or empathy or whatever sense of decency Felix has left, but he pads over, wary of red eyes lingering in the shade. The pup arches back, snout curled back in a snarl. Felix crouches and around the time he does; the creature faints, stomach trembling with breath.

 

 

Felix never considered himself kind. His sister and mother frequently called him heartless. But there was something about the creature. A great big wolf. It could be of use someday. If Felix were to continue to run patrols, a familiar might help to smell the Neverbirds before they come, sense adversaries. And so, it is out of necessity and not kindness, that he takes the wolf pup in his arms as it sleeps.

Away, far away from the place where its siblings and mother were slaughtered, Felix makes quick work of penning off a hollow tree. He secures twigs and logs over the base, but it faces the sky enough to give the creature light. And he takes some of the meat he'd packed away, places it on a leaf, and a small pit lined with leaves to hold water.

The fact the creature is still a pup calms Felix, and he rouses it with a splash of water on its snout.

The pup shivers at the sight but seems less uneasy as Felix holds out a stick of dry meat, and he allows the smallest of grins to take his face, muttering a term of endearment in spite of himself, " _Good boy."_

 

 

By the time Felix returns to the base, having cut his entire patrol short, all the light is faded twilit gold, sinking into the blues and blacks of night. Pan has his back turned to where Felix enters. He's standing with a leg propped up on a log, panpipes in hand but far away from his lips. The rest of the boys don't seem to mind - running around the fire and clanking sticks together, laughter carrying and swelling in their clearing.

Felix sighs. It seems as though he's destined to always walk into game when they're halfway through. It must be something special to be part of it from the beginning, he thinks wistfully. Especially since nobody else bothered to check the island in the whole day to be sure they  _could_ play their games without ambush.

Sometimes, it'd be nice not to care.

"Hey, Felix!"

At the sound of his name, Felix twists around, deterred from the dancing and magical boy at the center to see Rufio seated alone by the gnarled roots of the kapok tree. He's lounging with his elbows against the tree and his legs sprawled out before him as though it'd be too much effort to tuck them in.

And, Felix realizes, Rufio calling him over his - frankly - such a fucking relief after everything that's happened today that Felix allows the smallest of grins to betray him as he strides over to drop beside his friend.

"Haven't seen ya all day," Rufio comments, handing Felix a tin cup sloshing with something bitter. "Missed some scary fun today."

Felix hums in reply, and shrugs 'round the same time he brings the cup to his lips. He won't shudder as it goes down, but he has to question the taste. It isn't wine and it isn't liquor. Or at least nothing so refined on either end. Certainly alcoholic but Felix doesn't know the specifics. As it leaves a burning trail down his throat, Felix pushes that to the back of his mind.

"Was it worth it?"

"What do you mean?" Felix's reply is more into the rim of his cup than anything else but he gets his point across.

"Your paranoia hike." Rufio explains, lips turned up in a sly goad. "Did you find the home base for the Neverbirds? Is there some Big Bad Sorcerer that's trying to take over the island by telling the birds to kill Lost Boys?"

Felix rolls his eyes. "That wasn't the point of it."

"Doesn't matter what  _your_ point is.  _My_ point is that you wasted an entire day of fun to go walk circles around the island and have no stories to tell from it."

Felix sours. Holding in a huffy breath, lest Felix be thought of as petulant, he says, "I did see a shadow today."

"I figure you'd see a lot. Trees. Animals. Your own."

"No." Felix smacks his friend on the back of the head, indulging him by taking the bait. "A living shadow."

Rufio's expression shifted. His mouth dropped open and a hand ran through his hair, messing up the peak of red and black styled together. " _Shit._ You went into Dark Hollow all by yourself? And lived to tell about it? Damn. That's impressive."

Much as Felix wants to accept the compliment - would love to have something to accredit himself here, to earn his place among the seniors - he won't do it by fraud. And thus he shakes his head. "It was by Dead Man's Peak. Terrorized a she-wolf and her pups…"

" _What?"_

The sound doesn't come from Rufio. It's cold and severe and matches the sound a knife makes when it slices across skin. Felix looks up, his chest collapses in on itself when he realizes that he's staring directly up at Peter Pan himself.

It's terrifying and thrilling and one hundred other things all at once to have Pan's attention on him, eyes crushing embers that will doubtless keep on burning orange and red even after every other light's been snuffed out already.

Rufio knocks Felix from his trance with an elbow to the shoulder. Felix recovers with a soft breath and rises to his feet to give his report. Just like a squire to a knight. A knight to a commander.

But it's so peculiar. Felix is so much taller than Pan - he never noticed before. He doesn't realize the way he slouches in an unconscious effort to equalize their heights. His head is low, sticking to his report and trying not to pinpoint whatever it is in Pan's eyes that's so hard not to look at.

He relays the story. Directly and to the point, only giving the details that are vital. He spares any mention of the pup he's stowing away inside that hollow tree.

And Pan doesn't look pleased. "If you're  _lying_ to me -"

Felix straightens his shoulders, shook to the core. "I would never."

Pan pauses for a beat. His brow quirks, an intimidating slope and a his mouth held in the middle of a thought, ready to put words behind the eloquence of his silence. And then he pushes it aside and removes his hands from his waist in favor of gesturing to him with an open palm. "Show me exactly where it happened."

 

 

What happened next was a blur to Felix. He led Pan through the trees in a daze. There was an absurd sort of bastardization in the notion that he was leading a person like Peter Pan  _anywhere._ Surely he must've known the central location, surely he must've thought Felix was being too slow, that he might've gotten lost. And with that thought, Felix only increased his pace.

 

 

The clearing comes into view and Felix isn't sure how to indicate it's here, but, as it happens, he doesn't have to. Pan - so intrinsically in tune with the rest of the island -  _senses_ it and steps in front of him.

"This is it." His voice lacks all question, void of any inquisition, and Felix wonders why he had to lead Pan here if he already knew. But the confidence in his tone leaves Felix to nod by means of confirmation.

The magical boy fans his hand out in front of him. Every last molecule in the air shifts, and before Felix realizes what's happening, a murky creature appears from the shade of the canopies. Bright red eyes flash to Pan, and before Felix knows what's happened, he's sprinting forward, hand on his club.

"What are you  _doing?"_

Felix looks off to the side, away from the menacing creature hanging in air. Pan's brow is arched to a dangerous degree, his mouth crooked and unreadable.

He doesn't have time to respond, the red-tinged darkness in his periphery and he darts in front of Peter again. There's a snicker behind him and Peter extends his hand again. The shadow stops in air, frozen to the spot. Felix watches dumbly when Pan steps around him, broad confident paces. He blows into his open palm. The cool air crystallizes in his hand, forming rigid metallic sides, corners and transforms into a small box. Pan tosses it over his shoulder with a flippant " _Catch."_

Felix dives to receive it in his hands. He's surprised by the calm air around them, the red eyes of the shadow are intense enough to burn holes through the earth. But Pan's just got such a commanding control over it all, it seems as though this is simply part of his schedule. And, for all Felix knows, it is.

Peter steps forward, grabs the translucent leg of the shadow, tugs him down in the air. And then, as though the creature nothing but cobwebs,  _rips him apart._

Felix watches, wholly awed, as Pan tears at the creature, one hand on either leg and tears longways. And then places them together and rips again, and again, and again. He's shredding a shadow into pieces, and there's no noise; it's a pantomime, deadly and juvenile as ripping a dress tunic, but there's something elegant to the action all the same.

Once the shadow is nothing but black fringe in his hands, Pan turns back to Felix. "Give me the box."

It's indelicate as Pan stuffs the remaining smoky limbs into the mirrors, his fingers are reflected one hundred times over; light returning to the empty space as the shadow folds in on itself one hundred times over.

He slides the plate of glass over to seal the box. A small mirrored box, holding the creature who, moments before, could have killed any one of them with a single tug. And Pan subdued it as though it was nothing. He waves his hand. There's a glint of light and the box disappears beneath the earth; wedged between the roots of a tree.

And it's at this point that Felix has to try not to gape. The shadow that terrorized an enormous beast, a feral mother with her children at stake, Peter Pan defeated with a flick of his wrist.

Pan looks at him now, eyes green as the leaves around them and bright as lightning. His eyebrows move as he speaks; an evident personal tick that forms a bridge between the boy and the god that apprehended a red-eyed beast just moments before. "Felix, isn't it?"

Felix nods. "Yes, sir."

" _Sir?"_ Pan's snicker sounds just as enchanting as his pipes. "How do you see me? As an  _adult_ or a friend?"

A friend. Felix can think of many things to call Pan, but neither adult nor friend wouldn't have made the list. Lord. Master. Tyrant. God. Any of those would suffice. But he's been too distant to be friend and too childish to be an adult. And so, after taking a moment to deliberate, says, "You're Peter Pan."

Pan hums with a grin in lieu of reply. His shoulders square off and his head rises. Felix finds himself slouching to accomodate. "So," He continues. "How did you happen to come across a rogue shadow? All on your own?"

"I was on a patrol."

"Patrol?" Pan arcs a brow. "And who told you to go on this  _patrol?"_

"No one." Felix blurts stiltedly. "If we were to keep our eyes on the land, the Neverbird attacks will take us by less of a surprise."

Pan sways from one foot to the other, a pensive gleam in his eye. "What else?"

"What?"

"What else would your patrols accomplish?" Pan repeats, impatience threading through his tone.

Felix starts. This sounds like a test. It's his chance to actually belong; to not just be the novelty amongst the instated Lost Ones, but to become part of them. So, he takes a moment to think. "Our presence. If we make them accept us as part of the background, they'll fall in line with what we want."

"You don't think there would be...resentments?" He's wearing a crooked expression. Perhaps this is a game he's playing, but even if it is, why should Felix take it any less seriously? He seems to live off them, after all.

"Why should it matter?" Felix returns. "You have more than enough power to keep it from escalating."

"Then why the patrols?"

"Morale." This is an easy one if only on the grounds that order is more seductive than chaos. "Make the Boys believe they've got power. People tend to fill in the blanks on their own."

A breathy sigh, the air seems more humid than it was before, Pan steps closer. His steps flow one right into the other, as natural and commanding as the rushing water about to fall over the precipice of a waterfall.

"I like your ideas, Felix. They're good." Pan's grin radiates with the heat of a crackling bonfire. He raises his hand and Felix starts to flinch in a nervous habit. But that's when he feels strong fingers around his forearm. A hand, crackling with magic and handsome in structure with fingers that deny the impossible, rests on him. "Really good."

 

 

Felix is starting to understand exactly why the older boys would swear their allegiance to Pan, no matter what. His attention, the feeling that Peter Pan has his eyes - and his thoughts - on you, is an addictive stimulus. Felix tosses and turns that night, swaying in his hammock across the way from Rufio. Sleep evades him. He finds himself trying to find Pan's face in the stars. It's pathetic. He's acting like a pathetic chit, foolishly and without regard for any logic or understanding of the situation.

But he can't help it; the heat of Pan's hand still lingers on his forearm, if he concentrates. And because of that, he's wide awake. He recognizes the feelings, the way his stomach is wrung taut high up in his throat, the quivering under his diaphragm.

The boys are all tucked away, resting their puffy faces on their snot-stained pillows, and so Felix finds no shame in it as he rolls off his hammock and slips into the hollow tree from whence the pillows and bedrolls came. This limited privacy is better than none; he isn't bold enough to step out into the forest, and so this will do.

And so without another chance to second guess himself, Felix slides open his belt and loosens the laces over his trousers, collapsing on the cold dirt with a muted thud. He rubs himself over the rough material, articulates his fingers and thinks of the events of the day. Seeing the she-wolf and rushing back to camp. Pan listening in, ears always ready to hear of news of the island, ready to demonstrate his abilities and show off. It's endearing in its own way, Felix thinks, hitching his breath and retracing the steps they took - recounting every pace that he was leading the likes of Peter Pan and thinking of all the alcoves and trees with smooth bark, all the low hanging and loose vines. It could be so easy to go aside with him and disappear in the foliage.

And then Peter's hand was on Felix's arm. His smooth, perfect, defiant hands. And the world boils and steams around him. It's as though geysers erupt from the earth, thunder crackles. Or at least it should've. The lack of natural response seems a bastardization, but perhaps the endearment was enough of a force of nature. And Felix only takes a brief detour to spit on his palm before he's plunging his hand under his waistband.

He palms at himself first, coaxing cooperation from his cock, lets the pleasant warmth spread for a moment. He wonders what it'd be like to have Pan's attention on a daily basis. Whatever could it be like, to have the world at your feet and a god standing in front of you.

His free hand is reduced to tracing the imprint of Pan's hand on his arm, thinking of the ways he lifts the pipes to his lips. Perfect in every variation, from his stance: a display of confidence with his legs shoulder width apart, lips pursed enough to spin that enchanting melody. From the grin, manic and contemplative, as he watched his boys leap and whoop and holler. Felix couldn't think of anything else. Pan. His power, the way he tore a shadow and packed it away as though it was nothing. His eyes. The heat that lingered behind in the most innocent of touches.

" _Ah_ ," He hisses, massage turning into strokes as long and thorough as his confines will allow. His eyes flutter shut, the inside of the tree no longer stimulating enough. Instead, he thinks of bright eyes and pursed lips blowing out a song.

Pursed lips that could stretch wide and wrap around skin. What else could they do?

Could his silver tongue do more than just talk?

This is ridiculous. But, nevertheless, Pan accepted his idea. And he reached forward and touched him. He treated him like a companion. There's nothing more to it. But that shouldn't matter because it's really, is what Felix wants. Nevertheless, he slides his hand faster.

And if companionship comes with extra responsibilities, Felix will take them gladly.

Pan's got bright eyes and, though his shoulders aren't broad in the grand scheme of things, they fit perfectly with the slimness of his hips, the flat planes of stomach and cockiness at which he conducts himself.

Felix gasps, blowing a turret of air up through his lungs. He needs more air. He needs more touch.

Maybe if he does something good for Pan, he'll get it again.

He'll do more, he'll get more attention. Continue to do well, give Pan something to be proud of. And then maybe he'll earn another hand on his shoulder. More attention from the bright eyed boy - god or demon, tyrant or lord, a bit of it all and still something completely unique.

All Felix knows is that he wants it. Whatever Pan will give him.

Faster. He moves his hand faster now, bucks his hips and muffles his moans with his other hand, haplessly trying to control himself, slapped over his mouth.

He's almost there, so he indulges himself. Thinks of Pan's fingers in place of his own, his body pressed up behind his back, those pursed lips slathered against his neck.

It's shameful how quickly it's all happened, but that's all it takes. Felix shouts into his hand, his hips stuttering, abandoned of control, as the waves of heat and the warm flush of pleasure riding out through his veins.

And, perhaps it's foolish of him - on an island ruled by someone so omnipotent - he stammers the name as he gulps for more oxygen, vying to control himself.

"Pan," He gasps. "P-Peter Pan."


	3. Chapter 3

Whichever Boy had taken to marking the days on a tree had given up. Either that or he wound up on the floor of Mermaid Lagoon with saltwater in his lungs, or on the wrong end of an arrow, or in a path of dreamshade. All options seem equally reasonable, and so Felix doesn't worry himself to figure out which. The only gauge of time he has these days, however, is the wolf pup he hid inside the tree.

Time passes, and the creature's behavior changes alongside it. It seems so long ago to Felix, that the pup would cower in the corner and take hours of Felix sitting beside a log, twiddling his thumbs, before he would venture out of his haven to sniff at the meat Felix would leave out for him.

And now, if Felix weren't visiting the animal every day, he'd think he's not the same creature at all. He can hear the adolescent pup from half a league away when he heads towards his den. Felix does his best not to grin at its antics or quicken his pace. He'd thought for sure that the wolf wouldn't stick around in his manmade den after Felix broke the door down. But, the next day had come, and the wolf stayed. He'd hunt on his own; throw bloody carcasses of sickly pudu or capybara onto the foliage around the den, but he'd still wait for Felix to come by on his patrol.

And when he did? Felix choked back a yelp when an enormous collection of white fur leaped at him. He falls to his knees, feeling the snarly fur whisk by him as the creature yips and licks at his face.

He lets out a disgusted guffaw that goes unheeded as the creature continues to bounce and swing his tail from one side to another. It takes a moment of wrestling, a growl in the back of the wolf's throat that Felix can only pray is playful, before Felix leaps up to his feet. The movement's so sudden that the wolf rolls onto his back, submissive at the first moment of sudden movement.

Felix rolls his eyes and steps away to finish his patrol. "You coming?"

He doesn't have to look back to know the wolf is at his side a moment later. It's still young, barely reaches his knees but trots along happily, glad to be part of it. It's a sentiment Felix can understand. And, lest he find himself overly sentimental, he enjoys having the creature at his heels. There's something to be said for companionship, for another living thing to follow in your steps unquestioningly. It's a novelty that Felix doesn't get. He isn't sure he wants it, not entirely. But from the canine, he's more than willing to indulge the fantasy.

He walks more inland than usual this time, lest another boy see him with his pup. Felix isn't sure what the general consensus on wild animals is just yet. In Camelot, he would have been lashed and the animal drowned. But here, where the rules are ruthless but make more sense, he isn't sure. No other boy has one, and so Felix will wait it out, keep his white companion long as he can, and wait for the correctional blow.

It isn't long into the walk, they're still in the sunny patches of forest when the wolf bristles by Felix's side. It isn't unheard of for the pup to go running off into the wood on his own. And, even if it were, he always comes back.

Felix is surprised, however, when the creature takes a few excited steps forward, tail up and at alert, but then looks back at Felix.

This hasn't happened before.

Felix never follows a given route of patrol, and so he figures there's nothing wrong with indulging the creature. He follows. It's easy; the white blob against the dark greens and vines of the forest. He's so caught up in watching the white furry creature that he hardly even notices when he stops. And what he stops for.

He moves his hand, thoughtlessly, to pat the creature on the head, and that's when he hears the high pitched wail.

" _Hang on! I'm right here!"_

Felix hardly has any time to think before he was looking down at, not just his white wolf, but a pair of gossamer wings. They're red and brown and all the colors of autumn.

"Hello there."

It isn't till now that Felix has registered a  _girl_ on the ends of the wings. No, not a girl. A  _faerie._

He's about to run. He knows it's best to turn around, not allow yourself to fall victim to the fair folk and all their tricks.

Perhaps it's because he doesn't want to leave the wolf behind, but he stays, rooted to the spot. She doesn't seem dangerous. Nor even intimidating. She's certainly beautiful, but her face is a good deal rounder than the legends.

Maybe she's a different breed.

As though to cement this, the girl hunches her shoulders and her wings fold in on themselves. She busies herself on her hands and knees, petting at the wolf but turns an eye up to Felix.

"You're one of his, aren't you? A Lost One?"

Felix nods, unsure of the next best course of action.

"What are you doing all the way out here?"

"Patrol." Felix says immediately.

The faerie doesn't seem sure what to say, so she simply mutters "Oh" before changing the subject. Standing to her full height - still several heads shorter than Felix she introduces herself. "I'm Fawn. Animal talent faerie. Guardian over the living creatures of Neverland." Her grin fades, eyes soften at Felix's heavy glare. "What?"

"Where were you when he was terrorized by a shadow?"

Fawn's eyes grow big. "I can't do anything about shadows. They're not...my domain."

"How convenient for you." Felix sneers. "What sort of guardian has such  _pathetic_ limits?"

Fawn blinks. "Rogue shadows isn't a pathetic limit. No one - short of Peter Pan, at least, can face them.

Felix simmers and rubs his hand under the wolf's ear.

"You know," Fawn stammers in her change of conversation, "He's a wolf."

"I've noticed."

Fawn huffs. "Wolves are usually skittish of humans. You can't really domesticate them. But you can understand them and then can love you. He does." Her tone switches back to cheerful with such speed Felix almost reels. "I can see it in his eyes. You've got a companion here. You're lucky." She pauses. "What do you call him?"

"You don't name wild animals." Felix mutters in derision.

The faerie throws her hands on her hips. "Says who?"

Surely Felix's time would be better spent on his patrol. But he's entered into this conversation. It's got to be bad luck to turn your back on a faerie. And so, he indulges her. "I used to spend time in a falconer's mews. You don't name them."

The silly girl -  _faerie,_ Felix reminds himself- gasps, and puts her hand over her heart. "Well obviously not if you're going to mistreat them like that." Evidently, Felix's expression warranted an elaboration, for Fawn explained, "Keeping them cooped up, using them to hunt. It's no wonder your falconer didn't name them. He'd have to be aware of what he did."

Part of Felix wants to argue that his mews had been quite humane. But he'd never actually paid attention to the birds.

This conversation is tedious and pointless. If he were speaking to anything other than a faerie, he probably would have cut this brief turned his back by now. But it's too dangerous to offend the fair folk, every legend he grew up with detailed all the possible ways it can go wrong.

Fawn continues: "But don't you call your friends by name? Names can help make things real. Helps you know where you stand with somebody. Give him a name."

"If I do," Felix says slowly, "May I go and finish my patrol?"

The faerie crinkles her nose and shrugs. "Odd request, but sure."

And thus Felix pivots on his heel and takes three broad steps away. The wolf's ears twitch, dark eyes shifting between the faerie to the human and Felix sighs and address the animal. "Are you coming, Zev?"

* * *

 

The games have started to repeat. Pan, apparently, does not have an overabundance of ideas for things to play.

-but no, that can't be correct, Felix thinks with a frown. Perhaps Pan merely has favorites. He seems like the choosy type every now and then. So, it isn't too odd when he separates the remaining boys out to play Chivy once more.

The deja vu set in when Pan waved his hand and Felix found himself encased in a swath of green smoke. Once it disappeared, history was bound to repeat: Felix stood among a smaller fellowship of Boys, Curly groaned when he realized he was chained to the wall yet again. Everything began just as it had the first time.

It takes Felix a moment to realize that things have taken a turn into novelty. This long in the cave before and the Boys had already scampered off to begin their fun. Now, they huddle in an oblong circle exchanging excited glances.

Felix shuffles towards it soon as he gets his wits about him. Rufio moves aside to let him in, clasps a warm hand on his shoulders and Felix slouches. No one speaks, but five pairs of young eyes stare right at him. It's never been directed at him, but Felix recognizes the trepidation on their faces.

And so, he takes the lead.

"Who do we have on defensive?"

"Well Curly's the prisoner, ain't he?" Rufio says with a toothy grin. "I reckon Slightly's the only defense we need."

From his place chained on the wall Curly groans. "Don't leave me  _alone_ with him-"

"Doesn't matter," An olive-skinned boy Felix hasn't bothered to get to know pipes up. "He's not here - on patrol."

From Rufio, there's a objection. "I thought he's had evening patrols?"

"Yeah. But he got double for burning supper last night."

"He usually covers the south end. By Cannibal Coves." Felix pauses, thinks it through. They'll be able to use all their manpower on offensive if they put one exceptional player on defensive. But would it be worth it with the time limitations? With a sigh, he decides to cut his losses. "We should find him." He gestures to the boy who remembered this information. "You...uh…"

"Latchboy."

Felix nods. "You go with Pockets and find Slightly. Bring him here. Ace and Rufio stay behind and watch Curly. When Latchboy and Pockets return with Slightly, you four shift to offense."

" _Oh come on!"_ Curly calls out with his nose turned upwards. But nobody registers the complaint; there are bigger, more important things at hand.

"The rest of us go in different directions from here. We start here and move out. Ace, Rufio, Pockets, Latchboy, you all take the perimeter and move inwards once Curly's secure. We have the same base as last time; the other team likely does as well. Don't bother with any places you looked last time."

The company looks pathetic, shuffling their shoes and hiding their embarrassment with the stoop in their stances. Of course they hadn't checked any hiding places in the fray the last time.

Felix won't register their shame, lest a reaction be mistaken for pity. Instead, he swings his stave over his shoulder and punches out the syllable: "Move."

* * *

 

It came as a shock to Felix when the next Lost One arrived. A stubby kid with sweeping dark hair. Pan hadn't gone out to collect him; he'd just appeared in the clutches of the shadow and was dropped off at their feet.

Apparently, Rufio explained, it's not a  _common_ experience, but it isn't unheard of for the Shadow to fly from world to world and show some mercy on poor forgotten boys.

It's not that Felix is spoilt or ungrateful, but he does wonder why the shadow never took pity on him, all those nights he'd stare at the sky and wonder if it would be too much to ask for the to lightning strike him.

But that's already passed and, in the meantime, there's a new game to play.

Funnily enough, this game wasn't orchestrated by Pan, but by Slightly. The newest boy had a small red pair of dice in his pocket, and the senior Lost Boy had lit up, fishing a yellowed cube from his own pocket.

"That makes three," He explained, clearing off a level scrap of land and bidding the Boys circle him. "We can play  _Quatre-Vingt-Un."_

"Sounds great." Tootles had said dryly. "What's that?"

"Four, two, one." Curly murmured, flushing red when Slightly blinked at him. "A-a book washed up a few years ago. It was, um, a translation tablet. I-I learned a thing or two."

From his place crouched on the ground, Slightly's face, and then with a small grin, just crooked at the sides, he says, low, " _Tu m'épates."_

Felix wasn't sure what they were saying, but Curly turned entirely red. "Uh.. _._ you want me to _..._ explode _?"_

The laugh from Slightly was loud, and blunt, he covered his mouth and snorted as means of catching his breath. "Yeah, you learned nothing."

Tootles smacked him on the back of the head and Slightly's laughter quelled. He seemed to go pale once his sense was returned, but he shook his head and gestured back to the dice. "Anyway. The point of the game is to roll for a hand. Whoever gets the best hand gets a point."

"Sounds great," Rufio said, materializing off Felix's shoulder to lean his elbow on his side. "But how 'bout we make it a little more fun?"

Felix arrives a moment later, trying to find something of value to put at stake. Already there's a bottle of rum and a smooth club in the center. That translation book Curly mentioned was thrown in as well; some beads, a jar, and a studded belt. Felix hasn't bothered collecting much, even though he's been on the island a long while - perhaps even a year. It's so hard to tell. The seasons and weather shift with Pan's mood, and short of keeping up with the notches on the tree, the days blend and it's hard to keep track.

And Felix doesn't even have a collection of treasures to help him sort it out.

"Everyone ready?" Slightly calls out, pushing all the trinkets in the middle.

"Hold up, Felix hasn't put anything in." Rufio says, ticking his head towards the middle.

"I'll watch."

"That's no fun." Rufio shakes his head. "How about we go in it together? Split the spoils fifty-fifty."

With a brisk nod, Rufio claps him on the back and, together, they turn towards the company, and with a friendly thumbs up at Slightly, the games begin.

 

 

Usually Pan is the first to join whenever someone suggests something new. Or, if not the first, he certainly joins within the first few rounds. And yet he's nowhere to be seen. It's Rufio's turn to roll between the two of them, and with the odd absence of their leader, Felix takes a look around camp. Perhaps Pan is watching from the sidelines so that, the next time they play, he can be the master.

But he isn't watching. He's sitting on a log, not facing any of his loyal friends, but rather the new boy who just arrived with the dice in his pocket. It looks like a smooth one-on-one conversation; Pan's smiling.

Felix's stomach twists. He had to wait till he proved himself worthy of Pan's attention to get a passing glance and this brat shows up with dice in his pocket and gets special treatment? Hardly seems fair to him.

Rufio saunters back to him. "All right! Got twenty-four!" He cheers with a broad grin on his face. It fades the second he sees Felix's sour expression. "What's eating you?"

Lest he be seen as weak, presumptuous, of self-important, Felix shakes his head, looks around for an excuse. It presents itself in the wide burn spanning across Ace's forearm. And so he goes on a limb, "Ace is burnt."

"Well yeah. He fell into fire last night." Rufio shrugs. "He should've gotten his sleeping spot sooner, right?"

Rufio's grin fades at the harsh line of Felix's frown. "He shouldn't. We can't purposely weaken one another for something as simple as how we sleep." He pauses. "A tent or lean-to of some kind…"

With a loud sigh, Rufio turns away from the game. "We'll wanna make huts. Lean-tos and tents won't do much for warmth. Plus against the Neverbirds they'll get taken down in two seconds flat." He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at Felix's gobsmacked expression, and liking what he saw, winked. "We need wood, and we need mud."

 

 

Felix and Rufio darted in and out of camp thereafter with lumber in their arms and over their backs, unnoticed by the others all wrapped up in their own game. By the time the sun apexed in the sky, Rufio leaned up against their sizable pile of wood and pressed a water skin to his lips. "We've got enough for one or two," He said, "Maybe take a break, eh? Throw a few more rounds on the dice?"

There was no hiding the scowl on Felix's face. There was no point in leaving a job half-done, and especially not so early in the day. But, as it turns out, the issue was neither here nor there, for when the friends turned to the company, they found the whole camp had changed pace. The dice game had ended, either incredibly well or incredibly awful, as Slightly's sprawled out in a corner with a heavy nosebleed, tucking and rolling and dodging punches from Pockets; the game had shifted from dice to boxing.

The crowd had grown around them, whooping and hollering and cheers of "Kick his arse!" and "Get 'im!" echoing through the treetops. Rufio extends his neck in attempt to see who's winning. Felix can feel him itching to join, but he can't build this on his own. And so he kicks his friend lightly on the back of the knees. "Come on. You know more about building huts than I do."

Rufio turns back to Felix, a hand stretched across his chest. "Gee, Felix." He whispers, eyes wide with bewilderment. "Was that...almost a  _compliment?"_

Felix rolls his eyes, but betrays the stoicism with his lips, just barely parted and twitching upwards in a flash. "Just teach me how."

"Might as well get started on the mortar." Rufio resigns from his hopes and begins looking over the camp while Felix rummages through Rufio's satchel for the earthy materials they'd collected earlier.. Seeing some companions on the other end of camp, he waves his arm. "We need a pot to mix it in... _hey Tootles! Nibs! Bring that big pot over here!"_

 _"_ What are you two  _doing?"_ Tootles asks, shouldering the black cauldron between himself and his doe-eyed friend, tone dry as a desert.

"Felix here thought it'd be a good idea to make some sleeping spaces for the Boys who fall into the fire." Rufio explains, tossing the clay into the pot from Felix's hands and pouring some water from his skin. "Guess soon enough we'll be fighting over them at night."

Tootles shrugs and rolls up his dirt-caked sleeves. "Not if we make enough of them we won't."

Felix can't help but blink at the reception; Nibs lets out a sort of squawking noise.

In reply, Tootles only shrugs and lowers himself to the wood pile, sorting the pieces by size. "Been too long since I got to actually get my hands dirty and have something to show for it."

"What about that time we went hunting?" Nibs asks.

"Something that isn't you getting a finger chopped off," Tootles says, throwing a chunk of lumpy mud at the kid with a small laugh.

"Don't waste the mortar."

"Oh, come on Felix. Try and have some fun sometimes. Besides, with all four of us," Rufio laughs. "We'll get this thing up in no time."

 

 

In spite of it all, they've got all the walls up of the first hut. Nibs nearly lost a finger when Tootles suggested to flatten out the wood and make slabs for their walls. But, so far, they've nearly got one complete. Felix is standing on a log, now, attempting to assess how long of a slab or branch they need to begin roofing the building when he hears Rufio and Tootles snickering. Nibs makes a smacking noise with his lips. When Felix looks up he sees his finger-deficit friend facing the other way, puckering his lips to mimic a kiss.

Felix doesn't have to look up to understand the vague idea of the scenario. Slightly's gravelly "Shut up" only cements that.

Curly's voice mumbles out, "Stand  _still,_ won't you? I think you broke your nose."

Hopping down from his log, Felix takes the scene in. Slightly's sitting with fidgety hands by the firepit, steepling his fingers at his sides. He's probably using everything in himself not to shove Curly away (or to pull him closer). His face is dripping in blood, a waterfall covering his nose and mouth. Even from a distance, Felix can smell iron.

Curly's fingers are stained red as he reaches forward and brushes his hands on Slightly's bleeding nose. As the resident medic Lost Boy, it isn't that uncommon of an occurrence, even if it is unsanitary. But they do what they can. Slightly winces at the contact and Curly chomps down on his lip.

"Somebody distract him with something." He calls to the builders behind the set.

Felix can't help but snicker when Rufio jumps at the bait.

"Hey, Slights, is it true you've got an undescended testicle?"

" _N-AHH"_ Slightly cries out at the same time there's a distinct  _crack!_ in the air. Curly pulls away with a small wince, probably hoping no one saw.

"Good as new." Curly mumbles, reaching into a smaller cauldron for hot water and wiping his hands with a wince. He hands Slightly a rag to wash his face thereafter, rolling his eyes as the blond boy lays out over his knees. Standing, Curly looks at the four Boys in front of him. "You're making...a square."

"Observant." Tootles mumbles under his breath.

"We thought we'd try something new," Nibs obliges him. "Other than sleeping under the stars, y'know."

Curly nods, circles around the base while Felix surveys what they could use for a roof. By this time, Slightly must've gotten to his feet and noticed their newest friend's endeavor because he says, voice compensating in bass for the pain he's feeling. "We have timber, you know."

"That's right," Curly says, eyes going wide. "The little'uns wanted a bridge for the Crocodile River."

Rufio waits, locks eyes with Felix. When the taller boy nods, Rufio's lips split into a grin. "Well? What are we waitin' for? Let's go!"

 

 

Before Felix knows what's happening, the majority of Boys have dropped their sticks and throwing rocks. For whatever reason, a mallet and handfuls of sticky mortar seemed more appealing.

Perhaps it's because of how well Felix has assimilated among the senior Lost Boys. Perhaps it's because of how well Pan liked the patrols and everyone thought they might as well jump on the bandwagon. Whatever it is, it's acted as sufficient enough of a pull and the moment Felix takes a moment to breathe and find a drink of water, they've already erected four huts. They're slapdash at best. The thatch has visible holes in the roofs, the walls aren't all the same height; but what else is expected among a bunch of kids? It'll do.

If everyone wants a hut, Felix supposes they can go three to a building. Which means only two more are necessary. Four more and the seniors could cement their status by going two to a hut. The fact that he's got any sort of status to flaunt makes the idea more appealing than Felix would like to let on.

"What's all this?" Peter Pan's smooth, rich voice sounds off behind him. Felix is up and at attention as soon as he registers the sound.

"I thought fewer boys would fall into the fire if they had somewhere to sleep."

"Did you?" Pan's eyes are narrowed and Felix sucks in a breath.

Felix's stomach drops to the floor. He just wanted, after all, so badly to impress Pan, to get his attention. And so, he scrambles. "There isn't a point in them getting weaker because they hurt themselves on accident."

"But if they're stupid enough to fall in," Pan says. "They reap what they sow."

"With all due respect," Felix draws his words out long, gives himself time to plan his words carefully without any unattractive scrambling. "Everyone's stupid when they're half asleep."

-and he immediately regrets it. It was a stupid thing to say. Why does he always have to mess up?

-but, wait, no. Pan's... _smiling?_ His eyes are bright, but they're more of a twinkle than a flash. Those devious lips of his are quirked upwards; he lets out a breath that might be huffy but sounds too... _friendly._

And, to Felix's immense surprise, when he turns away, he lifts a gentle hand, fingers delicate and palm slightly cupped, and he says, "Walk with me."

Felix follows without hesitation. It's not long before he realizes that Pan doesn't have a destination. His gait is slow, meandering and lazy. He's noiseless as he glides over the foliage. A look of contentment on his face, a complete lack of strain visible on his handsome face.

They fade away from the hammering of camp, circling around in the hazy forest without saying a word. There's nothing but Pan's quick steps and Felix walking in time with him, half a pace behind and to his right.

It's almost picturesque.

-or maybe not, Felix thinks as Pan stops mid-stride and fans his hand out on the taller boy's chest. Felix can hardly register the situation before he's slamming down on the ground. He cries out when his shoulder cracks on a protruding root; the bottoms of leaves spin around his head and nothing can stop the circling as Pan crouches down over him.

There's the tyrant Felix remembers from his early days.

He can't think of anything else to do, and so he splutters, "I'm sorry."

"First rule of being a Lost Boy, Felix," Pan leans down and hovers over Felix's face, his hand waves for half a moment - touch and go - over the fringe lining his face. "Never apologize."

The next apology is ready on Felix's tongue and so he swallows it down, sweating from the intensity in Pan's gaze, the heat from the hand that'd skimmed over his hair. "All right."

"You don't have to look so scared," Pan rolls his eyes. "I have no interest in punishing you. Unless you break the rules."

"Which are?"

Pan chuckles down in his throat. "Now, come on. I'm a fair boy; I'll let you know." He stops, considers his own statement, wrinkles his nose a little as he finishes, "Unless it's more fun to make you guess."

"Which is it now?"

"Depends on  _you._ What game  _you're_ playing," Pan says, teeth looking eerily sharp as the world begins to stand still. "You've got a lot of ideas, haven't you? The patrols. Turning our little firepit into a proper camp. Soon enough, even the mermaids won't want to run into Peter Pan's Lost Boys. We're making warriors out of nothing more than lonely children."

There's a boot on Felix's chest, but he doesn't dare squirm. One way or another, he's being disciplined. Not punished, or at least Pan doesn't consider this punishment - but he's learning nonetheless. He knows it's best not to fight it.

Besides, he swallows back his sobs and fights to find the  _reason_ , he wants so badly for Pan to like him.

"I'm trying to piece you together, Felix." Pan sighs and removes his boot from Felix's chest. "It's so different than the others. On the one hand," He sits on a stump, elbows on his thighs to leer over Felix. "You're certainly ambitious. But never for yourself. It's always for the Boys, for camp. You haven't done a single thing for your own pleasure since you got here." He pauses and, noticing Felix's flush, tongues the inside of his cheek.

Felix knows he's blushing. His shoulder burns, sore pain shoots up from the place the root contorts it into a quasi bend.

"But that's what makes it so  _challenging_ to understand you." Pan clucks his tongue. "We've been dancing around this for a while, so allow me to get right to it. If you're doing this for me, taking up my chores for me, you're gonna get everything you've ever wanted. I like you. There's no reason I wouldn't be your friend. Unless...if you're trying to sway my friends, change their loyalties…" His eyes flash. Voice simmers low, growling. "The second you act on it is the second your shadow gets locked up with all the other traitors. Understand?"

Felix nods, a stilted motion that makes his shoulder pound. But he says "Yes."

"And?" Pan cocks a brow.

The answer is simple enough to Felix: "What sort of fool would challenge anyone who can rip a shadow in half with his bare hands?"

Pan snickers and extends his hand, limp and friendly once more. "You'd be surprised."

In spite of his better judgement, Felix takes it, curling his fingers around Pan's palm. The magical boy pulls him up, brow furrowing as Felix cries out, a short peal of pain.

"Hit something on your way down?" He asks, all menace shed from his face, as though he were a serpent that'd just changed his skin.

Felix nods and grasps onto his shoulder.

"Let me help."

Nothing could prepare Felix for how close Pan gets as he steps closer on swaying legs, craning his head upwards so he's eye level with Felix's neck - Felix sticks, petrified to the spot, otherwise he'd crane down. Pan's lips purse, just as they do over his magic pipes. A cool stream of air hits Felix's neck, before Pan crooks his head and comes closer. The air grows warm and wet as he descends in towards Felix's shoulder.

It's the sort of attention that Felix'd sell himself for, strikes every chord he's got.

The pain grows lesser and lesser each moment, shaking into thin molecules and then lifting, evaporating to join Pan's breath.

That couldn't possibly have been the simplest way to fix his shoulder, but Felix won't let a suspicion or a vague, pathetic hope lessen his gratitude. And so, he nods, watching transfixed at the color of stormy green sky, so perfectly composed in Pan's eyes.

"Come on," Pan clasps Felix on his new shoulder, turned away and any darkness that could, in any way, be mistaken for intimacy robbed from his eyes. "Let's circle 'round Cannibal Cove before we head back."

 

 

It wouldn't take an academic to understand Felix's motivations, but nevertheless Rufio plays dumb when Felix makes the suggestion.

"What do you wanna do  _training_ for?" He asks, stalking through the underbrush on the southeastern corner of the island. "We're already on a patrol."

Felix shrugs. "We should strive to be as strong as we need to be."

"I don't think we need much of anything." Rufio sighs. "We've got Pan on our side."

"Pan wants us to be self-sufficient." Felix reasons.

Rufio shoots him a crooked glare, presses his lips together. After a long while, he sighs. "It's impossible to derail you, y'know that?"

Felix smiles in reply, and shuffles his feet as they press forward. He figures it'd be best to assess the skills of the company and move forward from there, to figure out what would be useful and what isn't, and refine from there. Anything to make the company better, more efficient, more appealing to somebody like Pan. Make them into something that'll make the immortal boy actually smile.

He's caught up in thought, barely listening to Rufio prattle on for the rest of the patrol. It's not the most appealing thing, having a friend who ignores you, but, to be fair, Rufio shouldn't have been asking Felix to split his attention after he's gotten himself fixated.

 

* * *

 

In the evenings, Felix takes his patrol solo. Although the description suggests otherwise, he is never alone in these times. Zev contented himself to be ever present in these times, sometimes far up ahead, sometimes behind, and sometimes he would trot beside Felix, loping along through the perimeter alongside his human.

Felix isn't quite sure how he feels about being forced to name the creature. It certainly had the desired effect that the faerie wanted. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing remains to be seen; Felix hasn't had enough nerve to bring his young wolf into camp. It's less, now, for fear that his friends won't approve, but more for the novelty of having something to himself.

Pan even noticed, if he didn't do anything for himself, it couldn't be too much of a sin to have this one thing, a canine companion who would come and go as he pleased. Perhaps, Felix thinks - hopes - that was the intention behind his beratement. Felix is, after all, living in a land of eternal youth. It'd be a pity not to indulge that.

 

* * *

 

For all the changes Felix has seen in Neverland thus far, one thing always remains the same. When the day is done, and the Boys grow bored with their games, Pan will always slide into camp, lift his pipes up to his lips, and the Boys will dance.

It's just like that first night in Camelot, a dance suspended in a circle, haunting and magical. The Boys always clank their sticks and jump and whoop and holler. There's an equality among them, they all dance the same, it doesn't matter if they're older or younger, the magic takes them all away. And Felix sits on the outskirts of it all, reclining against a tree and observes the freedom they exude.

But, more stunningly, he can watch Pan. These days he can almost feel his breath whisk over his neck whenever the magical boy goes to blow into his pipes to create the alluring sound. It attracts all the Boys as though they're moths and Pan's a candle, burning bright on a long wick. It gives them a place to belong, a reason to dance and to celebrate. And no matter how many times, no matter how ridiculous even his most stoic of friends look flailing around like a bird in heat, it never stops feeling new or magical.

However, perhaps it's because of the distance between Felix and the fire, there's a coldness to it. He sits on the outskirts, just in front of the flap of his and Rufio's hut, and watches. He remains on the outside, away from the festivities.

It doesn't occur to him he can find solace in joining the dances. It's quite the contrary, it might break him to lock arms with Rufio and Curly and stomp around. It'd put him on the same level as everyone else, he'd blend into the background of Lost Boys and their community. Felix can do better. Someday, he'll earn the right to sit on the log beside where Pan stands. Perhaps his hip would grace Felix's shoulder as he plays the haunting tune. Perhaps the heat Pan seems to carry around with him is what keeps the fire going all night. Felix can't tell being so far removed, and as much as he'd like to see for himself, he's not good enough to test it. Not yet.

But, perhaps if he needs something Felix could-

But that's absurd. What could someone like Peter Pan need that someone like Felix would have to give? He sighs, surly and crosses his arm over his chest to continue to watch his friends dance. He's forgotten in these times, when the magic gets to them and not even Rufio would spare him an extra glance. His friend is thick set, and although he bounces around with some impressive acrobatics, there's a lack of strength in his motions; lack of power.

A spark of an idea ignites in Felix's mind and he turns his head to look at Nibs. The kid is somehow managing to balance on his hands although they lack several fingers. His shirt has dropped down over his head, revealing a fleshy stomach.

All in all, it doesn't look as though Pan's company is in top shape. Perhaps that's where he can help. They are Peter Pan's Lost Boys, after all; they deserve to be stronger.

The pathway of logic is simple, do as Pan said; make the Lost Ones into warriors. Maybe then, just maybe, he'll cross into the warmth around the fire instead of the chilliness just outside its rim.

 

 

During a hunt, Birds approach on silent wings. It's a fact Felix doesn't realize until it's intimately presented to him. One moment, the evening air is warm on his face, Zev plods about beside his heels. And the next, he's wrenched down. A muscular wing bashes him on the head. Zev snarls. The sound starts as a low and rumbly warning. And then it apexes abruptly to a yip. Felix lifts his head from the dirt in just enough time to see the Neverbird extend its talons; to see Zev levitate, flailing in its clutches.

Felix doesn't have to consider. There's no time for that. The logistics fail him as he rushes to his feet and races fast as his gangly legs can carry him.

Zev yips and thrashes. The Neverbird flies low to the ground, caught under the canopies in a particularly thick patch of forest. It gives Felix enough time to catch up. Just as the bird clutches onto the wolf tighter in one leg, he releases the wolf with the other. It dangles by its hind leg, two feet off the ground and lets out a curdling bay, pained and strangled. He wavers in the air, getting higher with each heavy flap of the bird's wings.

Felix charges and latches onto his companion. The creature who, without fail, found him at least once a day, would not become supper for the Lost Ones' most primeval foe. And so, he throws an arm around Zev. The wolf snarls and bares his teeth, the world convoluted and poised around his eyes to attack. And all the more when Felix brandishes a knife from his belt.

He makes quick work, has to, or else the thrashing of the beast and laboring altitude that grows and spins around. With a contained growl, Felix buries the hilt of his sword in the Neverbird's thigh. He'd aimed for the heart, but in the chaos, it's the best he can do.

The bird screeches. And Felix drags down as the bird starts to falter. He can smell blood, see the red flowing out from its feathers and he continues to slice down till he tumbles onto the underbrush. He let Zev go somewhere along the way. He tumbles down feeling the bird peck at his face and arms as he reaches forward and twists the knife deeper.

The creature squawks and Felix wrestles it down, slamming his knee into its wing till he hears it crack. Blood spurts out from the bird's thigh, the creature caws and shakes and spins desperately to get away.

There's a growl, Felix doesn't have time to look, but he can picture it: Zev struggling to stand on four legs, fur stacked high on his back, ready to aid in the fight.

But, truthfully, Felix is almost there. He unburies the knife from the creature's leg, dripping and warm in his hand, and takes a moment to consider.

There are many ways to kill, he knows. Back in Camelot they would wring a chicken's neck when company came home. Men would face the chopping block. Women would burn on pyres in the early morning sun. Children would drown. Elders or those who needed a benevolent death were stabbed where the spine meets the brain or else smothered. None of which are useful to Felix right now. None of which are good for  _hunting_ and taking down a kill like this. But when the hunter becomes the hunted, the penalty must be paid.

He lifts the knife in his hand and before he can consider a more elegant form of assassination, swipes the blade over the creature's throat. The blood weeps from the wound; the bird spasms, and then, at last falls still.

Felix pants, lightly. He's got open wounds on his face and arms. Everything burns, every last muscle strains, ever bone burns.

Zev whines from behind and Felix flips on himself. He rises to his knee and offers his palm towards the wolf. The creature sniffs at the offer, and then, deciding to trust the fallen Lost One, laps a warm tongue on his knuckles, wiping away the blood.

"Let's see the damage," Felix hums to the creature. He doesn't understand, but all the same the tone seems to calm Zev. Felix's hand glides over the white fur, tentative. He flinches away when he reaches the animal's thigh only to hear Zev yelp and bear his teeth at the pain.

It looks swollen, puffy even under his expanse of fur.

And Felix finds himself faced with a choice. He should either leave Zev here, alone, to become a meal of a tiger or the plaything of a rogue shadow. Or, he can take the beast to camp and find a splint to set his leg. The responses of the others be damned.

It's almost disturbingly easy to make his final decision.

The whispers travel fast among the boys. The rate of gossip always speeds along faster than a winding river, and something as shocking and seemingly barmy as the news that Felix returned to camp cradling a snowy wolf in his arms and dragging a fully grown Neverbird in the dirt behind him was enough to inspire a speed never before witnessed in Neverland.

In fact, Rufio and Nibs and Slightly were right behind him before he finished wrapping Zev's leg.

"Well, shit." Slightly murmurs under his breath. "They weren't lying."

"I'll take my rum now." Tootles interjects.

Felix, overhearing their antics over his shoulder, glares back at them. He can see Zev curl a black lip upwards from his periphery and, on the other end, all three of his friends flinch backwards.

"Can I help you?" Felix drawls, disgusting his grin when he rips the bandage with his teeth.

"You've got a wolf!" Nibs says. "We didn't think you really brought a wolf into camp. I thought maybe a squirrel or a rabbit or somethin'..."

"Neverbird almost nabbed him." Felix replies, refusing to consider any repercussions. They'd come soon enough, either from the Boys telling Pan or the shadow revealing his actions. In the meantime, he just has to fix this.

"You-" Rufio stops. "You played tug-of-war with a Neverbird - those giant shits that kill us by the dozen- over a fully grown wolf."

"He isn't fully grown," Nibs interjections. "Looks like a yearling to me..." And to Rufio's deadpan expression, he adds, "What?"

Felix finishes winding the bandage around Zev's leg, watching the nervy creature stare at the Lost Boys with trepidation, unsure what to make of his human companion's pack. Once Felix tucks the bandage into the rest, securing it with a tight knot, he turns to the Boys. "Is there a problem?"

He doesn't know why, but all three of them seem to flinch away. As though there's something off-putting or as though he'd been daring them to question him, rather than his simple inquiry.

"Nope!" Nibs says, hands up to pacify him. One of his fingers has grown back. Pan is, apparently, either in a very good mood or a very foul one.

"Yeah," Rufio nudges Tootles in the ribs. "And, I mean, who can argue with you, right? You've got a wolf on your side."

Felix does reply to that, only chuckles lightly in the back of his throat and strokes one long line down his wolf's head. Zev looks up at him, chews with a docile jaw at his hand as it swipes down his fur, tail beating minutely against the roots of a tree.

 

 

The Boys busy themselves with the carcass, plucking the feathers and dressing the bird. They spin if on a rotisserie over the fire, whispering at one another, stealing peeks at Felix, lying all by himself against the tree with the wolf guarding his side.

Despite the whispers and sideways glances, every last one of the Lost Boys takes up a tin plate that night for the Neverbird. There's no fighting over rations or wrestling over who trapped the biggest rabbit. The Boys accept portions of meat and hustle back around the fire without saying a word.

It's rather opportunistic of them, but Felix can't find it in him to be bothered. Especially not when his friends make their way over to him, plates shaking in their hands.

"He's not gonna bite us if we sit down, is he?" Nibs asks. He makes to extend a hand towards Zev but Tootles catches his arm.

Felix snickers at the interaction and shrugs. "I doubt it."

" _You doubt it_. Great." Tootles mumbles under his breath, but falls in a heap on the ground nonetheless.

Rufio slides up on the opposite side of the wolf, head cocked to the side. The trepidation is enough to make Felix laugh.

"Just sit  _down,"_ He seizes Rufio's free hand and drags him down to the ground. The food on the plate lolls around but remains firmly planted on the tin.

Zev looks up at the company. Nearly every boy freezes.

This really hadn't been what Felix was expecting. Some warriors. They're all up in arms at the mere presence of a lone wild animal. An injured one at that. For the longed survived Lost Boys they were certainly acting pathetic.

Felix takes a handful of meat from his own plate and dangles it in front of the wolf's face. Zev chomps at it, and Felix can see his friends waiting with baited breath.

"So, Felix," Curly asks once he realizes it's rude to stare. "How'd this happen? You just took down the bird and he decided to follow you home?"

"More or less," He replies. "When he was younger."

By the time Felix looks back up towards his friends, they're all staring. Slightly starts to cough rather violently and, as Curly pounds on his back to aid him, he asks, "You've taken down Neverbirds before? On your  _own?"_

Felix shakes his head, "It was a shadow."

He's only just lifted a bit of meat into his hands when he can see the five pairs of wide eyes staring at him. Curly sucks in a breath, Slightly murmurs a " _The fuck?"_ that's a bit too loud for comfort, Nibs presses his lips together and in, Tootles stares on, unsure.

Has he grown another head or something?

Rufio's the one to give the reprieve from being an eccentricity.

"Wait. You faced off with  _a shadow,_ lived, and didn't tell anybody about it?"

Felix rolls his eyes. "I didn't face off with anything. I came close and it scattered."

_Like a roach._

"Either way," Tootles says slowly. "You're one lucky sonuvabitch."

The tense air that's set in around them, apparent enough to make the fur on Zev's neck stand, lifts by the will of Nibs. The boy gasps happily at some unfounded revelation.

And, for once, Felix is glad to have the attention diverted away.

"You know, you don't have a nickname yet, Felix," Nibs grins. "That could be it!"

The Boys blink, not one of them entire sure of the segue in Nibs' mind.

"Lucky!" He exclaims when nobody weighs in. Before his eyes, he can see each one of his friends' faces drop, a few snickers here and there. Rufio snorts. Nibs rubs the back of his neck, leaving behind a streak of blood in the caked dirt on his skin. "Or...or, y'know. Not."

 

 

After supper, the Boys have more energy than normal. Perhaps it's because of the lack of fighting over rations or meals. Perhaps it's because they have collectively made the decision to showcase how  _unperturbed_ they are by the wolf. And the best idea would be to make sure they don't cast a glance over to the corner of camp. Felix sits there, stroking down Zev's head mindlessly. The games have restarted, throwing dice and racing up trees. It's a mimicry of Felix's first night on the island. Each small group playing their own game, not paying mind to any of the other festivities around them.

That is, at least, till Slightly and Rufio decide to start up the drumline.

This sort of music isn't compulsory. It's a back beat, there's nothing magic in the sound. Nevertheless, it's energetic enough to rouse a handful of the Boys. Many of them mimic sword battles with sticks to the beat, some think it's a good soundtrack to start boxing towards. It isn't really dancing, and because of that, Felix's nerves are still; he can relax.

He isn't sure, now that he thinks of it, how he really wanted this to go. He's been keeping Zev secret for months, possibly even years. And now that he finally had the chance to introduce his companion to his friends, it all seemed to fall a little flat.

But, perhaps it's because they're only human.

As though on cue, tapped into Felix's innermost thoughts, a rush of magic floods the camp. Pan materializes from the air, shadows of firelight bathing on his face, moonlight casting milky shadows on the top of his head. He's facing the other way, but he stands with such confidence Felix can imagine the look on his face.

"Got started a bit early today, eh?" Pan goads, challenging lilt in his tone. He extends his hand, revealing his trademark pipes. "How about we get some real music?"

The Boys cheer and drop their games. Felix hums when the music reaches his ears, just as haunting and enchanting as the first time. His fingers roll over Zev's head and neck. From where his ankles cross out in front of him, he taps the top foot against the other in time to the beat that Rufio and Slightly maintain.

With the pipes up by his lips, Pan begins to circle around the dancers, watching them just like he always does. Whether guardian or judge, Felix is never sure, but the action relieves him just as much as it makes him envious of the dancers.

And then, Felix can feel the world fall down from under him. Pan turns about from where he surveyed the Boys. It seems impossible, but there's a glint of surprise over his face, a brow sinks lower on his face. Pan stares, eyes skidding from Felix to Zev and then back.

Felix can feel the fever rush from the deepest part of his spine. His ears grow red. Oh gods, why hadn't he thought about this? What if Pan doesn't want a creature in camp with them? Felix knows how Zev can be useful, but surely Pan would too. And there haven't been any wolves in camp before now. Perhaps it's that Pan doesn't want them. Perhaps Felix just defied him.

Before he can realize what he's doing, Felix's hand slides down Zev's skull and stops at his scruff. He balls the fleshy fold into his fist, holding tight.

Felix hears his blade slide out from its sheath before he can register the movement.

For a beat, Felix is still. Beseeching Pan, waiting for the yes or the no. A command, that's all he needs. With his thumb and forefinger, he feels for the slope on the creature's neck where his skull and first vertebrae meet.

He won't feel a thing. Felix holds his breath and waits for the command.

Shadows dance over Pan's face. He registers the movement with a lift to the brow and an open grin on one half of his lips.

And then, Pan lifts his palm towards the two of them. Felix bites the inside of his cheek. Perhaps his sin was irredeemable.

But then, in the dirt, a shallow metal trough materializes from smoke. The water inside glimmers orange in the firelight, dark black depths underneath. Felix blinks, assesses himself to find his dagger back in its sheath. In its place in his hand, there's a leather flask.

He lets go of Zev's scruff to find the animal stands immediately, dipping nose first into the trough, lapping up the water with a long pink tongue. Felix, not letting his eyes off Pan's, brings the flask to his lips.

It's bitter and burns on its way down his throat, but the after-effects are sweet. He lifts the flask into the air, bowing his head slightly. Thanking Pan for his benevolence with a toast.

And then, before the kid turns back to the company of dancers, Felix could have sworn he winked. 


	4. Chapter 4

They hear the crow late in the afternoon. A coarser sound than all the natural birds on the island, the practiced mimicry of a rooster. It reverberates over the trees, picked up by others in earshot. It pulses, growing louder and swelling like dominoes fall, one right after another.

And, by the time it reaches camp, a lone wolf's bay bringing the din straight to their hearth, the boys remaining are petrified. A hush falls over their games; they hear dice hit the dirt with a padded thud.

Felix leaps to his feet and dives to the line of weapons on the south wall of camp, hand passing minutely over Zev's head as he walks through. Passing Nibs along the way, he says, "Grab the weapons." And to the rest of the camp, he won't raise his voice, but they wait for their orders. " _Move."_

The Boys don't wait after that before all hell breaks loose. The rush to the wall of weapons. The splintering chime as arrows slide onto crossbows, settle into nooks on longbows. The low rumbling of a wolf bearing his gums and growling to the sky, fur standing on end, tail straight as a stave. The metallic shiver of swords grating against one another or of blades being tested on the wood.

It's furious. Quick. They're moving at breakneck speed, working through the steps outlined and drilled daily before this vital point.

Curly makes a mad dash to the big kapok tree and heaves a log in his hands. Slightly assists him to lift the burden. Together they stuff the log under a root and use a rock as a pulley to lift a loose root and expose the tunnel.

" _LITTLE'UNS, UNDERGROUND!"_ Curly yells, struggling to hold the log in place.

It's chaos as the stampede of small children rush to safety, tripping over older boys arming themselves, over clubs and spears, scraping their knees and slicing their arms in the process. But they run.

"Curly! What's happening?" Lucas gives to the side, the last of the little'uns to dive under.

"Go and lay on your belly under a hammock." Curly struggles to hold the root open. "Just like we practiced, okay?"

"But-"

"Just GO!" Slightly intervenes, jolting the kid to slide under the root.

The two boys drop the root after the last small body toddles through, and Curly hardly has time to glare at Slightly for his rush when a gust of wind breaks its way through the trees. Several boys hit the ground. From above, they can hear the shrill cry.

"Together!" Rufio calls through the disorientation as the birds dive through the trees.

In a heap, Felix and Zev at the helm and the company behind, the Boys brandish their weapons. Tootles holds the first crossbow, an abrupt breath caught in his throat.

For a moment, everything's suspended in air. Felix waits, watches closely. The Neverbirds are close, diving at breakneck speeds. Slightly hustles over to the company and lifts his spear into the air. The air whirrs under them.

Overhead, the Neverbird at the head extends his talons. They're getting closer.

"Tootles…" Nibs's voice wavers beside his friends ear, waiting for the signal.

"I got this." Tootles murmurs and, with the slide of a finger, pulls the trigger.

His arrow whirrs through the air, the Lost Boys hold their breaths- standing there for centuries. The arrow rips through the bird at the lead. Right into the heart. The creature cries out, a blood-curdling scree, and falters. It plummets to the ground. The Boys cheer. At Felix's whistle, Zev races to the twitching creature, ripping its throat out for good measure. But the rest of the Neverbirds are still on their way.

Felix looks up, sees the company of three, the bloody birds of prey overhead. "Get ready."

And then it collides.

The battle is frenzied and harsh. Tootles and the archers load their bows, send their arrows whirring into the air. Some fell the Birds. Bodies and talons scrape through the huts. Zev growls and barks, Boys shout and scream, wood splinters and flies through the air.

The Boys on patrol who who make it to camp have no choice but to leap in, fresh meat to the birds and exhausted backup to the Boys. Slightly and Nibs lead a troop head on, baiting their spearheads to the birds' faces. Felix hits feathers with rocks and a blunt club. Curly, Rufio, any number of Boys use swords to attack from behind.

Rufio is backed up against the outer wall to a Bird. No fear in his eye, but he waves a bright blanket from one side to another, whooping and hollering. Using the splintering roofs of the huts as a foothold, Felix climbs into a tree. The Bird chomps its beak at Rufio. Its feathers puff up and he caws.

Felix jumps from the bough, club lifted high above his head. One good bash to the skull, the creature reels. Felix rolls as he hits the ground. He thinks he feels another Boy's leg, hears his scream of pain as he does. The Bird falls, skull bashed in.

Rufio rushes and extends an arm to Felix. "You okay?"

Felix nods in lieu of reply and accepts his friend's aid before launching once more into battle.

Blood splatters on the ground. Feathers curl through the air. Shouts and caws and barks and peals of pain and swears are heard through the forest.

A belated Boy or two comes running to camp from patrol. He grabs a lance or a sword and jumps into the fray, no time to think or assess.

Just as planned.

Bodies litter the campsite. Large aviary bodies, small, crumpled human ones in heaps all 'round. Four birds strewn across the ground, jugulars torn out in the eager chops of a vengeful canine. Three Boys down, though Felix doesn't have the time to check if it's fatal.

The loss isn't that devastating. And now they're down to one adversary.

Slightly has the last Bird at the end of his spear. Nibs baits the creature with stones, throwing them one by one. Tootles on the other side, makes noise. No words just a gargling in his throat. The Neverbird blinks between them.

And then, it bulks itself up. Heaves up in the chest and flings his wings back. Nibs throws more rocks. Tootles gets louder. Slightly jabs.

The creature squawks. Outnumbered, there's nowhere to go but up.

And so, it takes itself up with its wings and ascends into the air.

"Get ready to shoot." Felix commands.

It's Curly who draws back the string on the shortbow. "Just say when."

They wait. Hold their breaths. Curly points his weapon to a break in the trees so he can get a clear shot. The bird appears, flailing and flapping his wings.

"Now." Felix snaps.

Curly takes a breath and releases the string. It's impossible to say where the arrow hits the Neverbird. From the way its flight falters, the wing is a good bet. But the creature cannot stay in the air for long, and no sooner has it flown out of eyeshot, the Lost Boys can hear the splintering of trees as the creature falls.

For a moment, there's no sound except for the collective heave of the standing Boys's breaths. They blink around themselves. The blood and carnage pools together. Splattered blood and feathers jump out from the walls of huts, from the trunks of trees. On the scattered cooking utensils. On their faces.

They can smell blood and guts, curdling harsh and rancid in the air. Bird carcasses lie limp. Boys moan and groan on the ground, clutching their limbs. The wreckage somehow seems worse after all the work they've put in.

Zev limps towards Felix, his paw still bound, and laps at his fingers with a tongue stained dark red.

Nibs is the first to shatter the silence. "We did it," He murmurs, voice awed. His voice grows louder. The Boys join in the cheer. " _We did it!"_

"Indeed you did." A smooth voice breaks over the crowd. The din dies soon as it began. Pan appears, from nowhere, leaning against a blood-splattered tree. He looks from Boy to Boy, their flushed faces. The sweat and dirt and blood caked on, and he quirks a brow. "Don't stop celebrating on my account."

"You...you were here the whole time?" Rufio ventures to break the silence.

"No," Pan replies. "But I was prepared to bail you out like before...if you needed it."

There's silence. Nobody dares to move.

"You didn't," Pan continues. "You're shaping up. I think that deserves a proper feast."

The magical boy waves his hand. The blood seems to evaporate from the stones and the dirt.

"Finish with the particulars," He says. "Get medic on this, clean the Neverbird carcasses. I'll be back soon and we'll celebrate your victory."

It's the only leave Curly needs, rushing to the ground and cheking for breath from the felled Lost Ones. The rest of them stand stoic. Out of breath. Still trying to string the pieces together.

"And more importantly," Pan says, rolling his shoulders and stepping closer to the company. "We need to give some attention Felix here."

Felix shakes out a breath. He knows he should express gratitude, but the acknowledgement stuns him out of reply.

Pan doesn't seem to mind. "Your strategy and training made warriors out of these boys today. I'll make...special arrangements for you tonight."

Mind short-circuited, he can see the sun and the moon and all the stars in Pan's face; his blood is still pumping hot and territorial in his veins. All he can do is nod.

"All right," Pan grins. "Get camp cleaned up. I'll return at dusk."

The younger set emerges from beneath the roots. They've got buckets of boiled water in their hands, wincing as they burn themselves on it. Bandages pile high in their hands. Bottles and bowls of herbs scatter along the ground.

Felix keeps track of their numbers. No casualties. There are countless other injuries, but they all survived. Nibs aids Curly in carrying the injured boys to a line of bedrolls and hammocks. A few have arms or legs bent back. Some are bleeding through their shirts. Slightly and Tootles are responsible repairing the damage to huts. Rufio stands in the corner, leading his team in plucking the Neverbirds' feathers, skinning the creature and extracting its meat.

The stench makes the Boys vomit.

"There's four Birds," Rufio says, frowning. "We're never gonna have enough use for all of them."

"Dressing them would take all night," Felix agees, assessing the pile.

"I'll send Latchboy over to the Kaw Tribe. See if Hard-To-Hit 'r Tiger Lily want 'em."

Felix blinks. "How  _nice."_

"Is it nice when I'm only askin' because  _I_  don't want to deal with it?"

With a snicker, Felix clasps his friend on the shoulder and continues circling camp. When he had first come to Neverland, he would never have believed there could ever be this sort of order among the Lost Ones. The difference is nothing short of extraordinary. And Pan had let this happen, he'd allowed the tweaks and changes and provided the support and motivation. That, Felix thinks, is more magical than anything else the island can produce.

Now, everyone has something to do. The young set spoons water to the injured and wrap gauze around their wounds. Walls in huts are re-erected in no time at all in between Slightly and Tootle's joking and jeering. The camp is brought back to order in a matter of hours. Order that hadn't even existed before.

As promised, Pan returns at dusk. Many of the Boys have bandages around their arms, legs or heads, herbs stick out from under the gauze. But already, they're on the mend. They cheer along when Pan appears.

Tootles is turning a slab of Neverbird on a rotisserie, the raw meat piled high behind him. Upon Pan's entrance, he waves his hand in Rufio's direction. The meat cooks, seasoned to perfection. The scent is enough to make everyone's eyes water.

"He couldn't have done that earlier?" Tootles mumbles under his breath. Nibs laughs and gives his friend a good-natured swat.

A second swing of Pan's arm, the fire roars high and bright and the Boys crow excitedly. Blinded by the firelight, it takes Felix a moment to realize why they are so excited. In addition to the meat, a score of tin plates appeared, balanced on a log, filled with cakes and puddings and flasks and flagons sloshing over the brims.

Felix's mouth hasn't watered so much in his life. Exhaustion is just beginning to sink in; the food looks too good to be true.

"Boys!" Pan calls, jumping on a log to establish himself as the highest head in camp. "Today is the day we'll remember as the day the Lost Boys took down a host of Neverbirds!"

Compelled by the energy Pan exudes, the Boys erupt into cheers. Zev joins in, howling to the moon and stars above, prancing around on light paws. Even Felix pumps his fist in the air.

"Those  _sparrows_ didn't even know what hit them!" Pan raises a brow, grin wide and delighted. "They're nothing to us. And we'll take them down over and over again if need be."

The cheers continue. Pan snickers as he waits for them to quell, bidding them finish quickly with a quirk to the brow.

"Tonight!" His lips split into a grin at the way his Lost Boys hang of his words. "We celebrate victory. And we've got to be fair, don't we?"

A small choral reply of agreement. Rufio claps Felix on the back.

"Felix!" Pan calls. The boy in question is at attention. A moment later, Pan appears in front of him. The fire stops crackling. The Boys grow silent. " _You_ arranged it. Patrols, drills, leading the troop into battle. This victory would not have happened. Tonight, we drink to Felix. The boy who felled the birds."

Under his breath, Slightly murmurs, "That was technically Curly," but his complaint falls on deaf ears.

Rufio whoops loudly and the rest of the Boys fall in line. Zev sits proudly at Felix's heels, tail bleating on the ground as though mania and magic alone domesticated him. The sound reaches Felix's ears. He swells, unsure what to make of it. So many eyes on him, Pan's eyes on him. Cheers and adulation. His lungs, he thinks, are about to burst. How quickly can a heart beat?

"And," Pan's voice cut throughs the din and brings it to silence. "To commemorate."

Pan holds his hand under his chin. Pursing his lips, he blows a stream of cold air into his palm. Felix watches, eyes growing, as a string of beads, accented with feathers, materializes from nothing.

Every nerve inside Felix freezes as Pan takes a step closer. The magical boy rises onto his toes and reaches forward. His nimble fingers in Felix's snarly hair, moving like a caress as they fasten the strings over his ear. Felix can feel his heart pounding, faster than in battle, as Pan grins.

"I think I'll keep you." He says, voice breathy and soft.

Felix only has enough time to nod before he stiffens all over again. Pan presses onto his toes, hovering closer. Those dangerous lips close, bouncing off the snarled fringe, his fingers continue to play with the feathers in his hair. He's close enough that Felix can feel the way his energy shifts as Felix stiffens. The snicker is low and rumbling in his ear, shooting deep through and under his stomach. Pins and needles shoot in his diaphragm.

"I told you I'd get you everything you've ever wanted," Pan whispers into his ear, breath hot against its shell. "And I  _always_ keep my promises."

And then, flipping mood fast as the flip of a coin, Pan turns back to the company. "Well? Let's not delay the party any longer then, eh? Dig in." He turns to Felix as the Boys lunge for the cakes and meats. "Sit with me."

Perhaps there's magic in the air, or else in the food. The exhaustion from batte evaporates, everyone high off endorphins, stuffing their faces with slim white meat and decadent cakes and thick pudding. The conversation's loud and boisterous. People reenact blows from battle over the fireplace, injured boys speculate about their impending battle scars. The gravity that seemed so heavy while the camp was in repair doesn't matter any more.

And Pan sits among them, joking and laughing on a log beside Felix, his smallest finger grazing the white fur at their feet once every few moments. It's odd, but it occurs to Felix that this is the first time he's seen Pan interacting with his old friends.

He reclines back, stroking lazily down Zev's spine from where he's perched below, and rolls his eyes at their antics, but joins in alongside them.

"How're the fingers, Nibs?" Pan teases at one point, and when the kid in question holds up both hands to reveal a total of six fingers, Pan applauds. "Didn't lose any? I'd wager that's a good sign."

And then, later, when Slightly looks around himself with a frown asking, "Where's Curly?" Pan snickers and puts a hand on his friend.

"Didn't think the little ones could handle much more excitement, I expect." He squeezes Slightly's shoulder. "You could probably  _intercept_ him on his way back."

Slightly flushes red. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tootles coughs, a pseudo-muffling of the very apparent " _Liar!"_ he chokes out.

Pan smirks. "You really ought to do something about that, Slightly. Before someone else does."

The red turns to purple in Slightly's face as he murmurs, "They wouldn't" around the same time he coughs out he's going to go for seconds and flies away from the group.

And Pan shakes his head with a laugh, worlds away from the boy who ripped shadows in half and demanded the utmost excellence.

And, it's strange, but Felix is in awe of their behavior.

It's stunning how different Pan seems right now in this moment. He doesn't look like Pan at atll, that mystical tyrant, god of the isle. He doesn't look like the Piper either. He's not that cloaked figure promising a life. It's so much simpler. He's sitting on a log with a grin on his face. Teasing friends and knocking plates out of their hands before restoring it with a spell. He sits up straight and reclines back at their dumb jokes. It's surreal as hell but Felix can't help but be a little in awe of it all.

Peter Pan, in this moment, becomes Peter.

It lasts as long as the meal. The night's grown dark. Nibs mentions balefully that they haven't seen either Curly or Slightly in a great while. The rest of the boys grow restless and start to shove over the remaining cakes. Pan stands up abruptly.

"Boys!" He calls, the epitome of a leader once again. "If you're getting restless, how about a song?"

The remaining scramblers nod in agreement. Pan waves a hand in front of the injured boys, the ones who cannot dance, and a line of drums appears in the thick green smoke.

Felix grins to himself. He clicks his tongue so softly the only one to hear is Zev, keen ears perking at the noise. Felix doesn't address it lest he break the awe that's set in as he wonders: is there anything Peter Pan cannot do?

Pan hits the first note and, adjusted to the twist of events, the Boys leap to their feet. The well ones resume the normal dance. They flail their arms like jellyfish and flip in the air. Some crow into the night sky, still intent on making this a night to remember.

And Felix sits and stares at Pan, the purse in his lips, the look of calm and control. He can hear and feel the beat of the drums of the injured boys. A fast beat directing his heart to thrum in time.

Pan removes the pipes from his lips, grins victoriously over the lot of them, moving to his will. And then, faster than Felix can remember to breathe, returns to the log beside Felix.

He leans forward onto his elbows. His eyes skate over the dancers for a few moments, and then shift down to the pipe in his hands. Fingers steepling on the wood, he addresses Felix.

"You never dance."

"No."

Pan lets out a lofty sigh and turns the pipes over in his hands. "Do you know why?"

"Do you?" Felix returns, comfortable with his place beside Pan, the months sitting up close with the fire have given him more audacity, and for whatever reason, Pan seems to approve.

"I've got a few ideas." Pan leans forward onto his knees to straighten his back, twisted into a slump from before. "You think they look stupid and, despite not dancing making you the odd one, you refuse to partake."

Felix considers this. The Boys don't look so much like lumpy octopi flailing around on eight legs as they did before. Drills have made them more athletic, the movements more pronounced with strength. But it does still look marginally ridiculous. Though judgement is no longer a concern of his. He likes to think he's past the point with the Boys where it matters.

"No?" Pan quirks his head. "But you do care so much about restraining yourself. It's a miracle you ever let yourself have fun."

Felix rolls his eyes. "Any other ideas?"

"Several. There's something you'd rather be doing. You see dancing as a waste of your time."

If there was something else Felix would rather be doing, why would he sit around his friends rather than doing it? He won't bring the statement to light and instead shrugs.

"You can't hear them."

"What?" Felix blinks, unsure where the peculiar sentiment came from.

"The Pipes." Pan clarifies. "You can't hear them."

"Can some people not?"

A brow flickers upwards and he sits forward, elbows on his knees. "They're enchanted. Only certain Boys can."

"I see." Felix pauses, wondering if belonging to the exclusive group that could hear the pipes somehow makes him lesser.

He isn't allowed to ruminate for too long, however, for Pan stands up with an uffish nod.

"I think they'll be set for a while," He says, turning to the company, dancing to their own percussion and strained attempts at song. "I'm bored of music for the night. We should find some...other entertainment."

Something rises in Felix's throat, and he nods in compliance, unsure whatever Pan could mean, but he falls in line. He sees a flash of white in his periphery, and for a moment he'd forgotten Zev was with him and has fallen in behind him. Felix doesn't think to ask if Pan wanted complete exclusivity, but he figures that after a few moments in the wood Zev might wander off on his own and return to camp with a prize carcass and a spring in his step. For this, Felix doesn't worry and follows Pan across the camp, making a crescent around the dancing Boys.

A hike is suspected, but a moment more and Felix finds himself wrapped up in a fine green mist. It's less shocking than it had been before, and Felix wills himself to relax as Pan whisks him off to wherever is most convenient. It's best to roll with the punches. Pan will show him exactly what he means eventually.

Once the fog dissipates, Felix finds himself standing on a precipice, alone with Pan. If he listens, he can hear the thrum of the Lost One's bonfire and their clacking of sticks. Zev's nowhere to be seen and Felix wonders, for a moment, if the wolf will go wandering into the forest looking for him or wait expectantly in the hut they share with Rufio.

It doesn't last, though, for the sights in front of him whisks his breath away. The moon is so bright, bathing them both in milky white light. The fog fades and Felix blinks around himself. He can see water for miles, water and then black cloudless sky. The stars hide, faint pinpricks in the sky that are too shy to fully boast their presence. The only thing of any substance lingering in the sky is that saucer of the white light, and the reflection therein separates the rickety water around him. It's the highest point in the island, Dead Man's Peak. He hasn't made it all the way up before, and turns around himself to get a better look.

There are jagged rocks and snarls of long grass all around. He turns about to get a better look and cries out at what faces him: a wall of dreamshade thorns. He throws himself back to the soundtrack of Pan's laughter.

"Just don't snag on any of them."

Felix nods, feeling as though the sentiment should have been inherent. But he turns back, the peak overlooks the whole island. If he turns his head southwest, he can make out the fires of the Kaw tribe. The glitter from Pixie Hollow shines from over the trees. He can hear, even at this distance, the splash and evanescent melody of the mermaids due east.

He's never had a bird's eye view of anything before.

Lest he allow sentiment to get the best of him, Felix coughs and says, "You can see this whole place."

"Observant," Pan snickers. "Indeed you can, but I was thinking, rather than look down, we spend tonight looking up."

"How do you mean?"

Pan's eyes glimmer. "Lie down."

A thundering in his chest, a maelstrom in his gut, Felix complies. He can feel the loose sand against his back, the protrusion of a stone here or there, and he waits. Pan circles around him . Surely he doesn't intend to be as intense as it feels, but Felix can feel himself blush. He feels like a lamb after a shearing, laid out and waiting for Pan to make a comment on his form.

No comment comes. But rather, Pan himself lowers to the ground and, with an unceremonious flop, lies beside him. Felix lifts a curious brow as he turns his head towards Pan.

He doesn't have time to ask before Pan stretches out and smiles at him, stopping his thought as it stands. "I think," He says. "We need stars. Important ones."

Felix, unsure, nods.

Pan waits for a moment, anticipating something, but Felix cannot guess what until he says, "Go on. Tell us a story."

"What story do you want?"

A huffy sigh and Pan says, "If I knew the story I might as well just tell it to myself. That's kind of the point."

Felix clamps his jaw shut. He's stuck waiting for a clarification, a request.

"Fine. Let's make it easy for you." Pan grins. "Tell me about your first patrol. Running into the shadow and the she-wolf."

Not breaking his eyes from Pan, Felix reiterates his memories. Pan's eyes scan the black night's sky, darting from one side to another, as if just registering its immenseness. His face looks more pixie edged than usual in the moonlight, the specifics of his face are lost in the darkness, but his silhouette, the major features that make Peter Pan into the boy he is remain in tact.

He's almost finished with the tale, finishing up with how he reported back to camp when Pan interrupts him, pointing up into the sky. "Does that look like a wolf to you?"

Baffled, Felix tears his eyes away from Pan to search the sky. He can feel his eyes shoot wide open at the sight of nearly a dozen stars that had clearly not been there before, burning white and brilliant in the inky sky, forming box with legs and a fearsome looking head.

Pan stares at him intently. "Well?"

"It's missing a tail," Felix says, without thinking. He's too comfortable to care, though he really knows it ought to register as stupid that he's nitpicking something Peter Pan did, but before the thought can bring him any anxiety, three more stars appear in a jagged line, twinkling and bright in the sky.

"There," Pan says contentedly, eyes flickering from the sky to Felix's face. And, like a moth to flame, Felix's eyes follow.

It feels like he's floating, although the grass still crinkles against Felix's back, but the world isn't of consequence and the heat and humidity slick against his skin, but nothing matters but the warmth radiating from the boy lying beside him. Felix sucks in a breath but all he can muster out is "Pan."

"Peter." He says. His voice is almost docile and Felix can't quite tell what to make of that.

And so, all he can do is nod. His throat's gone dry, and he doesn't understand. There's something promising in Pan's-Peter's eyes, something that makes Felix want to run away and crash into at once. A delicate turn of his cheek, the mania in his eyes, he can't make a single thing make sense of it. And it's frightening.

Frightening, but all the same, there's something quiet and close and intimate right now. It's quiet, the sky speckled with stars of Pan's own positioning, and over everything, Peter had elected to make Felix a part of this.

Peter quirks a brow, but as the moments skim by like dust in an hourglass, inch by inch his face goes level and relaxed, lips parted in the ease of the moment. Electric green eyes skim up Felix's face, before their eyes meet.

Felix can't remember a single time this has happened before, that they've made eye contact, but that's impossible isn't it? It's against his better judgement, but Felix can feel himself inching closer.

With a sharp breath, Peter takes in the air. Felix can feel the atmosphere change, the temperature shift under Pan's whim. And they're so close now, the darkness sets shadows over their faces and Felix can't make out the distinction but he can feel Pan's breath.

And then, it's as if nothing happened at all.

Peter reclines back, the distance between them once again allots for air. He rests his head on his hands but. grins at Felix nonetheless. A moment suspends for a beat till he returns to staring at the sky, surveying the heavens for a good placement for a new constellation.

"Now that we've got an idea," He announces, voice sounding as though nothing had happened but a secret, close twist on his lips. "Next story."

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this backstory fic! I had a lot of fun writing it. 
> 
> I hope the loose ends aren't bothersome. The intention was to make this fic (and eight more in this series) fashioned more like a snapshot of life on Neverland than a novel, but I'm not sure if the effect worked. Unfortunately I was too eager to get this published to finish the series and do a read-through to see. For that I apologize. I should have fine-tooth combed the whole thing. However, I'd love your feedback on this idea, whether it works or not and why or why not. 
> 
> Shameless plug: If you like this, remember to keep your eyes peeled and subscribe to the series, since not all of them will be in the Panlix ship tag here. Also, if you're on Tumblr I have the same url there as here and for special notes, deleted scenes and discussion for the series I have a special blog, _all-lost-here-fic.tumblr.com_ specifically for that!
> 
> **Special Thanks** ~
> 
> **pandasushiroll** : For coming up with the idea of how magic works on Neverland and letting me borrow the idea. For workshopping with me, reading drafts, and quelling my worries over 3k+ emails.
> 
>  
> 
>  **z0mbieshake** : For workshopping and reading drafts and outlines and helping me glue this story together piece by piece and for continually helping me take this story from the shoddy original outline to something worth publishing online.


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